Lost and found my saving grace
by Jinxgirl
Summary: Sequel to Saving Faith. Crossover between Buffy, Glee, and Saving Grace. When Santana is called as a Slayer, her slapping of Finn has tragic consequences. It is up to Faith, with the help of her angel Earl, to help Santana learn the same lessons she herself has struggled through in her quest for identity, family, and self acceptance.
1. Chapter 1

Lost and found my saving grace

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.

Author notes: This is a crossover between Buffy The Vampire Slayer, Angel, Glee, and Saving Grace. Sequel to Saving Faith, set three years later, post season six of Buffy and during season three of Glee.

Santana didn't want to wake up in the morning, let alone walk into the halls of William McKinley High School and actually have to get through the next day. How could she stand it, when her social status was undoubtedly plummeted even lower than Jacob Ben Israel's? Between Finn's big mouth, shooting off to anyone within hearing range in the hallway, and the political commercial, clearly displaying her face and proclaiming her sexuality for all to see, the only way that anyone could possibly miss the truth of Santana's relationship with Brittany was if they were dumb, deaf, and blind. And although there were certainly a lot of dumb people in Lima, there was a sad lack of physical deformities in place to protect Santana any further.

Everyone knew now; there was no way to escape this fact. Everyone knew, and what made it even worse was that everyone not only knew that she, Santana Lopez, was a lesbian, everyone knew that she was in love with Brittany…and maybe, just maybe, Brittany didn't love her back. And the worst of it all was that Finn had made it clear to everyone that this was something she cared deeply about, something that laid her vulnerable and open to target.

From now on, no one would look at Santana and keep their distance, for fear of her sharp tongue and sometimes ruthless ability to assess and then set into action a way to most deeply hurt others, in retaliation for in some way threatening her. No one would view her as the beautiful, popular cheerleader who had clawed her way to the top of the social ladder out of nothing and would claw through anyone who tried to drag her back down again. From now on, Santana would just be the lesbian, the girl who had fears and doubts just like all of them- and they would all know exactly what buttons to press. She would be mocked and harassed, sneered at and judged, losing every bit of status that she had worked so long and hard to obtain. She would become nothing, just as she had always feared she was and would always be, and the thought of it terrified her.

She couldn't tell her parents what had happened, yesterday. She had barely been able to speak at all, after Mr. Shue, Sue, and Lady Hummel's father cornered her to tell her about the commercial soon to be aired. She had ran into the bathroom and cried so hard she hyperventilated until she vomited, and only when Brittany was called to come to get her could she gather herself together enough to let herself be eased up and driven to Brittany's house. There was no way she could attempt to go home and act normally in front of her parents.

Instead, Brittany had carried her up to her bed and lay down with her, spooning her for the rest of the evening, stroking her hair and kissing her neck and shoulders until Santana fell into a fitful sleep. Santana hadn't known until the next morning how her absence had been explained to her parents. Brittany had told her, when she asked hoarsely around 3 am, that she had texted an explanation to her mother, Whitney Pierce, after Santana fell asleep, and Whitney had then called Maribel Lopez and told her that Santana was sick, having vomited, and was staying at the Pierces rather than drive herself home. It wasn't a total lie, and Santana had accepted Brittany's actions with only a little worry and let herself be caressed back into sleep.

Santana had considered staying in bed the next morning, and Brittany had asked her with gentle concern whether she wanted to do that, letting her know she'd support her either way. But in the end, fear of what people would say about her behind her back was stronger than what they might say to her face, and she had gotten herself up, walking into school with Brittany's pinkie firmly in hers, for as long as it was possible for them not to be separated. Santana was pretty sure Brittany would have skipped her own classes to accompany her into hers- it wasn't like she hadn't on a fairly regular basis before- if she hadn't insisted on her letting her go alone.

It was every bit as bad as she had feared. Everywhere she looked she could see people looking at her, some glances simply curious, but some smirking or insinuative, some disapproving. Even for those that didn't actually say anything- and there were plenty that did- Santana inwardly shrank, wanting nothing more than to lash out and hit them, or else to run straight back into the bathroom and stay there for the rest of the day.

Some time around noon, she started to notice a strange feeling in her body. She felt hot all over, and then a sharp rush of adrenaline, almost painful, as though she were filled with sudden power and strength that she had never encountered, even when getting involved in a physical altercation. Santana felt restless and intense, unable to describe or identify exactly what it was that made her feel so suddenly different…almost powerful. It made no sense, in the face of what was going on, but she didn't try to understand. It was a strange day, a terrible, stressful day, and she chalked it up to her emotions beginning to take it out on her body.

Instead, she accidentally broke three pencils, two pens, and the binding of one book without having intended it, her frustration growing with each titter from classmates and each broken item added to her list. By the time the school day was over and it was time for the scheduled mash-off competition between the Glee club and the Troubletones, her agitation was at an all time high.

Santana was quieter than usual as she dressed with the other girls, shrugging off their efforts to ask her if she was all right, refusing to even acknowledge to them that there was any other possibility. But when she went onto the stage with the others and saw Finn Hudson, front and center, her chest seized, and the strange feeling she had felt for several hours now seemed to grow that much stronger. She became so distracted she forgot her first few lines, though Mercedes noticed and thankfully covered for her until she could compose herself, but throughout the rest of the number, even as Santana sang with all the emotion and ferocity she had been feeling all day, she couldn't help but notice Finn, right in front of her eyes, whispering to Rachel…whispering, she was certain, about her.

Rage, fear, and anxiety rushing through her veins, Santana barely waited for the last few notes of the song to fade before she rushed off the stage, getting directly in Finn's face as she shouted out to him exactly what she thought. He was an idiot, he was a traitor, he had outed her to everyone and ruined her life. The more he answered and the more clueless he seemed, the more furious she became, until without any further thought about it, her hand darted out as she slapped him, open handed, in the face.

She had expected Finn to be shocked, angry, maybe to yell back at her or push her. She had expected him to play the injured victim, to have a red face or hopefully a bruise. What she hadn't expected was for the loud crack as Finn's head snapped backward, as his body flew back with force, and for him to lie, motionless, his head tilted back at a terribly wrong angle, for his chest to go still as his breathing stopped. She hadn't expected the hysterical screams of Rachel Berry as she gripped his shoulders, shrieking that he wasn't breathing, the shocked gasps and horrified stares of the other students and the none-too-calm voice of Mr. Shue as he instructed them not to touch Finn, for someone to call an ambulance.

As Santana's legs buckled and she collapsed into a nearby chair, staring with utter shock in Finn's direction, she was very much aware that no one was coming anywhere near her now. No one was going to tell her that it was okay, that they knew she didn't mean this, that she would never deliberately hurt someone to the point that they were that badly off…where they were maybe dead. No one was going to put their arm around her badly shaking shoulders and provide warmth to her suddenly shivering frame, reassuring her that she still mattered, that they still cared, that no one was going to hate her now for this, that no matter what would happen now, they would still defend her…that they didn't blame her.

Not even Brittany.

There was so much happening, so much going on all around her that Santana could not think. It was Shelby Corcoran, the Troubletones instructor, who was calling an ambulance, her voice trembling slightly as she described to them the situation. Tina was sobbing, trembling in Mike Chang's arms, and Sam Evans had run for the school nurse, though Santana was not fully aware of his absence. Somewhere in the background Sugar Motta was half shrieking questions shrilly.

"Is he faking? She didn't hit him that hard, is he pretending? He's so huge, there's no way he's not faking! Just because we did such an awesome job and he knows he's going to lose-"

"No, no, no, he has to be breathing, someone, help him, help him breathe!" Rachel was crying out, her words distorted with her tears. Her entire body was shaking in Mr. Shue's grasp as he tried to hold her back from rushing over to Finn, twisting and pushing at his hands. "He needs CPR, please, please, someone help him, he can't breathe!"

"Mr. Shue said not to touch him, his neck- oh lord, his neck-" Mercedes was saying, her voice choked, dropping lower as she tore her eyes away, biting down on her lower lip.

From the corner of her eye Santana could see Quinn Fabray, frozen on the stage, her face pale and strained, her lips moving in what Santana vaguely recognized as a prayer. Old habits returning, whatever Quinn's rebellion of this year, she was slipping back into what was familiar, what had been drilled into her all her life. Becoming the good girl, the proper Christian, praying to a God Santana wasn't sure that either one of them fully believed in anymore, because that was all she could think of to do, the first instinct that came to mind. And just behind her stood Brittany, so motionless that she too barely seemed to breathe. Brittany, her blue eyes round and blank as they always became when the world was too much for her, too much noise and confusion and unpleasantness. She was tuning it out, withdrawing into her own private world, as Santana had witnessed so many times in the last few years- but not lately. Lately, they had been happy, together…lately, Brittany had seemed alive and connected, confident in a way Santana had never seen from her, strong for her in a way that she knew Santana needed and Santana could never have admitted to anyone else. But now she was vacant, her eyes not seeming to see Santana or anything else around her at all. Brittany who hated all violence, who hated raised voices and calling names even from her secret girlfriend, who despised bullying of any kind, blocking her out of her awareness when Santana needed, more than anything, for Brittany to be present with her.

Santana's eyes were on Brittany , her own lips parted, chest heaving with her near hyperventilating breaths as she struggled to process what was happening, what she had done. When two heavy hands clamped down on her shoulders, squeezing roughly, she jumped, not having even noticed their owner approaching her until Puck's face was inches from hers, his spit flecking her cheek with the intensity of his words as he practically screamed at her.

"What the fuck did you do, Santana, what the fuck is wrong with you?! You fucking killed him, what the fuck did you DO?!"

He shook her, his thick fingers digging into Santana's narrow collar bones, not seeming to care if he hurt her. He probably wanted to hurt her, to give her a little payback for what she had just done to hurt his best friend. Puck was a long time friend, a one time ex and fuck buddy, and as much as they sometimes figuratively and even literally rubbed each other wrong, there had always been affection to some degree in their relationship. But right now there was nothing but anger in Puck's features, anger and disgust that she had never seen directed her way from him before. He gripped her hard enough to bruise, seeming to want to shake an answer out of her.

Santana could hear Shelby shouting out for Puck to stop, coming up behind him and gripping his upper arms, but Santana didn't wait for her to try to get him off. Reacting on instinct, she shoved out at Puck's chest, trying to push him away from her- and was astonished when he went almost flying backward, stumbling back over Shelby and knocking her over as well. He was over half a foot taller than Santana was, nearly twice her weight and size, with a solid, muscular presence that continual working out had developed- and yet she had pushed him over as easily as she might have pushed a toddler. Something was wrong here…something was very, very wrong.

From the floor Puck gaped at her, too astonished at first to even roll off of Shelby, and all around her in the auditorium Santana could hear the others' gasps and see their horrified stares. They were looking at her like she was a monster…she had become monstrous, in more ways than she ever could have anticipated, and as the school nurse burst into the room and moved to Finn's side, Sam on her heels and Principal Figgins following close behind, Santana's heart beat faster and faster until she could hear nothing else but its rapid pounding in her temples. The world seemed to spin and shake all around her, and it was too much. All of it was too much, beyond unreal, and when she got to her feet, her legs shook, but then held, guiding her almost automatically to the auditorium's exit door.

She thought she could hear someone calling out her name, telling her to stop, to stay, but only one voice could have turned her back around, and Brittany didn't speak a word. Santana kept running, no specific destination or course of action in mind. All she knew was that she couldn't stay in the suffocating emotion of the auditorium, she couldn't stay and watch the horrific results of what she had done unfold. If she ran away from it all, maybe she would wake up and realize that none of it had happened, that it was all some terrible fantasy or dream.

She didn't watch where she was going; with no intended place she was headed towards, all that mattered to Santana was that she keep moving, arms and legs pumping, heedless of her uneven and awkward gait in her high heels and dress, of her hair coming loose from her ponytail and straggling in her face. She was vaguely aware of how easy it was for her to run despite her difficult outfit, how fast and effortlessly her body seemed to move, almost unnaturally, how despite the fact that she was very much in distress, it didn't seem difficult for her to manage at all. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead of her, but no matter what she tried to fix her gaze on, her eyes couldn't seem to stop seeing Brittany's empty eyes, the way she looked at her yet through her, Mr. Shue's stunned, apprehensive expression as he didn't quite look at her, Rachel's weeping face and Puck's features so near hers, contorted with his rage. But most of all she saw Finn's empty gaze, his twisted neck and his motionless body at her feet.

She had killed him. Somehow, Santana's anger at him had resulted in his death, and no matter how much she hadn't meant it, it was her fault. Finn was dead now, and it was her fault. She had killed another human being…she had killed FINN.

Santana was too distraught with her own thoughts to even realize she had entered the middle of the street two blocks down from the high school. She was running too hard, too fast, for either herself or the oncoming car to have had a chance to stop. The next thing she heard was the loud cracking noise of her own body making impact with the car's hood, and then she was dropping to the road, her head hitting the pavement beside it with a dizzying blow. Santana's vision blurred, then faded, and the pain that coursed through her was almost welcome to her before she became aware of nothing at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Faith Lehane exhaled, dark eyes narrowed in concentration as she walked through the not-so-crowded Cleveland, Ohio airport, her small carry-on bag slung over one shoulder as she made her way to the luggage area to pick up her suitcase. She hadn't actually thought that bringing a suitcase was necessary; after all, she didn't know how long it was that she would be staying in Lima, Ohio or what it was, exactly, that she might need. But Cordelia had insisted that she pack heavy rather than light, and Faith knew that at least to some degree it would ease the other girl's mind about her trip, even if Cordelia refused to admit that she had any concern whatsoever than the possibility of Faith running out of clean and Cordelia-approved clothing in her absence.

"I know you, Faith Lehane, and what you'll end up doing is wearing the same pair of jeans the entire time, three different tank tops, and turning your underwear inside out," Cordelia had accused, rolling her eyes and shaking her head, even as she carefully folded an extra sweater into the suitcase she had thrust in Faith's direction. "Ohio is a state that actually has changes in the weather. Snow is an actual event instead of a mythological non possibility that only comes to save vampire lives from approaching apocalypses. Cleavage tops and holey jeans aren't going to cut it."

She had taken over the process of packing as soon as she realized that Faith was trying to pack stakes, a battle axe, and one of her favorite knives among the six or seven different outfits Cordelia had demanded she bring, harrumphing and sighing with exasperation as she muttered aloud to herself.

"Right, Miss I Know Exactly What I'm Doing Here, Cordelia, you are SO good at this, that's exactly why you're trying to take friggin' medieval weapons through airport x-rays and security, 'cause then you can get arrested and have to Judo chop your way onto the plane and force the pilot to take you by hijacking because you haven't watched even one movie where the moronic criminal tries to sneak a bomb on the plane and gets his ass handed to him. You know what, let me do this…besides, the girl is like, sixteen years old and a cheerleader, if you show up in holey jeans with an axe in one hand and a stake in the other, she's going to round off kick you in the face and gag you with her pompoms. What do you think you're gonna have to do to her anyway that requires six different deadly objects?"

"Hey, you never know what might end up going down," Faith had defended herself mildly, shrugging her shoulders before playfully bumping one of them into Cordelia's. "She's a Slayer and like you said, a cheerleader. Think back to the last cheerleader Slayer we knew and all the insanity that flew at her like magnets and tell me you wouldn't like an axe or two for back up."

"Buffy was a cheerleader for like, two minutes, because a crazy old woman was crippling us and setting us on fire, and not in your crazy redneck angel guy kind of way that goes away in thirty seconds if you pray loud enough," Cordelia rolled her eyes, adding a toothbrush and toothpaste to Faith's rapidly filling luggage. "I looked this girl up too, she's a national champion and she's been on TV. Even if it was a political smear commercial, it was still one time more than I've ever been, and she doesn't even have hips. She-"

"Cor, what does the size of this chick's hips have to do with anything other than you being a drooling perve sizing up the up and coming baby gays to see if they outshine you?" Faith had asked, already snickering to herself and bracing against the blow that she knew was coming even before Cordelia's fist shot out at her, hitting her in the shoulder with surprising force. One thing Faith had made sure to teach her in the last two years was how to throw a decent punch, and Cordelia made sure to practice on her with what Faith considered a probably disproportionate but not exactly unwelcome frequency.

"I'm just saying, you need to have clothes that don't look homeless chick chic if you want this girl to take you seriously," Cordelia had maintained, before lowering her eyes back to her folding and muttering to herself, "Or maybe I shouldn't be encouraging you."

Hearing the bit of jealousy in her tone, Faith had come behind her and wrapped her arms around the taller girl's waist, arching her neck a little to be able to rest her chin on Cordelia's shoulder. She squeezed her lightly, her thumb stroking over the curve of Cordelia's hip bone as she said in a playful but still serious tone, "Only room for one hot cheerleader in my world, how could I stand to learn even more useless facts about hair products and bimbo celebrities that I'm not allowed to beat up on?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes, huffing another seemingly exasperated breath, but Faith could see the corners of her lips curve into a small smile, and her hand moved to cover Faith's, lightly squeezing her fingers as she leaned back into the other girl's chest.

"I don't know. I'm sending you off to give a crying shoulder to a super flexible teenaged cheerleader more famous than I am, with an obvious boob job and who of COURSE just happens to be a lesbian. If she was blonde, I'd just save us both the trouble and hand you a friggin' whip because you know she'd use it on you with relish."

Faith had just laughed, her arms tightening around Cordelia, and the hand on her hip slowly shifted lower, rubbing the top of her thigh. She could feel the slight change in Cordelia's breathing as she stroked her through the girl's tight pants, with the exact pressure and speed she knew she most enjoyed, and she let her breath hit the back of Cordelia's neck as she lowered her voice to a smoky murmur she knew sometimes made her shudder with enjoyment to hear.

"You know damn well I can come up with better uses for a whip than handing it over to a teenaged girl."

"Ew. You are so disgusting, I swear I'm not letting you use Willow's Netflix account anymore because it's obviously warping your kinks into spirals," Cordelia retorted, but Faith could hear her voice grow a little huskier to, her heart beating faster against Faith's arm.

When Faith brushed Cordelia's hair back from her neck, kissing its exposed skin, she felt her relax further against her, and when Faith reached up to turn her chin to her, pressing her lips to Cordelia's gently at first, then with more pressure, deepening the kiss, Cordelia kissed her back with no hesitation, one hand reaching to firmly twine through Faith's hair and giving a light tug like she knew by now Faith enjoyed. When they pulled apart, Cordelia was fighting not to smile, even as she rolled her eyes yet again.

"Whatever….I still think her boobs are a really botched job."

Faith had rolled her eyes back at her, giving her a little nudge, but she too couldn't stop her smile. In the nearly three years that she had come to know and grow close to Cordelia, she had come to understand that for Cordelia, this entire conversation was almost the same thing as the other girl telling her that she loved her, and Faith knew that her own response was pretty much the same thing as telling her that she loved her back.

Sometimes it was difficult to believe that it had been two years since she and Cordelia left Sunnydale for Los Angles, in pursuit of a different way of life. Cordelia had hoped to become an actress, and Faith had simply hoped to make a life of her own, as long as it was with Cordelia. A life free of other's expectations and perceptions of her, in a town where no one knew her name. Having recently gotten her GED, she figured that she would get a job, Cordelia would search for work in acting, and somehow, together, they would figure out what they wanted in the next stage of their lives.

It hadn't turned out quite the way either of them had anticipated. Whereas Cordelia had gone forth starry-eyed, anticipating fame, fortune, and a glamourous acting career just waiting for her arrival, reality had been somewhat sobering. As it turned out, there were far more girls wanting to be actresses than there were acting jobs needing girls to fill them, and the vast majority of those girls available were much blonder, thinner, more experienced, and had more connections- and a lot more willingness to give sexual favors- than Cordelia herself was. A few months after settling into their shared apartment, Cordelia had only received a single offer- and that was for topless dancing, a job she'd never applied for in the first place.

Faith had tried to remain supportive and encouraging, knowing how badly Cordelia wanted this for herself, but it was difficult for either of them to remain optimistic when Faith's job in a construction company- a job she immediately won by sheer demonstration of strength, not to mention her reference of Xander- was their only source of income. Cost of living, not to mention their apartment, was much higher in Los Angeles than in Sunnydale, and it wasn't long before they were genuinely struggling.

Faith's own intention had been to take time away and apart from being one of the Chosen Two, to figure out who she was now, after one very eventful year, and what she wanted. She was seventeen, nearly an adult, and already felt herself to be in all the ways that mattered. Los Angeles would be a place to give her a fresh start in life all over again, a chance to take the newly content and confident person that her time in Sunnydale had shaped her into becoming, and apply it towards whatever she decided would be her next thing in life. She had thought she wanted and needed that time, that slaying was an option, rather than a genuine calling; she had thought of it as a piece of her rather than an important part of who she was and what she valued.

It hadn't long for her to realize she was wrong. For one thing, there were the demons- there seemed to be more of them in Los Angeles than even vampires. They seemed drawn to her like a freaking magnet, and it was all the more frequent in encountering them because unlike vampires, they had no problem with going out during the day time. Faith always carried a stake and an easily concealed knife with her, just out of habit from life on the Hellmouth, but she hadn't known that they would be quite so necessary in daily life in Los Angeles as well. And somehow, even though she certainly wasn't running her own mouth about it, every single one of them seemed to know at a glance that she was a Slayer.

One attempted kidnapping of Cordelia, several foiled death plots against Faith, and several murdered body discoveries later, and it became obvious to Faith that having a normal, quiet, anonymous life was simply not meant to be for her. She couldn't ignore the obvious "evil issue, "as Cordelia witheringly called it, in Los Angeles, any more than she could in Sunnydale; it made her feel edgy and restless to even attempt to.

It took all of three months for her to get in touch with Angel, who she knew had also migrated into the city from Sunnydale, and ask him if he, too, was aware of the "evil issue" surrounding them. As it turned out, Angel was not only aware, he was forming what Faith had thought with great amusement to be his own private Batman wannabe company. Named Angel Inc., Angel's business was intended to "help the helpless," in situations of strange or supernatural influence, which often translated to tracking down monsters, demons, vampires, and sinister humans associated with them.

At the time that she first spoke to him, Angel's "company" was more like a partnership, consisting of only himself and a half demon visionary named Doyle. With only a little talking up and a quiet request on Angel's part, it soon expanded to include Faith, as fellow partner and out based "agent," and Cordelia, as their secretary and assistant researcher. Or something. The fact that Cordelia couldn't type, had her own interesting and indecipherable filing system, had much to be learned in the way of phone manners and people skills, and had no supernatural powers or abilities was tempered by the fact that she did rather badly need a job, and she, unlike any other young woman of dubious skills up for a secretarial position, was not only aware of the supernatural, she was fairly skilled in dealing with it on a rather frequent basis. Within the next several months, Wesley Wyndham Pryce had also joined their gang, as well as a streetwise young man named Charles Gunn and a quirky but very intelligent young woman nicknamed Fred. Somehow, Faith had developed not only a place where she could be respected and appreciated for herself, her skills, and her abilities, but also a family of sorts, without ever having thought it to be possible. As different as they were from each other in knowledge, appearance, personalities, and strengths, and as vastly annoying as they could be, Faith had come to feel deep fondness for her coworkers. She knew that she would do whatever it took to protect any one of them- and she actually believed that it was a mutual feeling on their parts towards her.

It wasn't the life that either she or Cordelia had expected or been looking for, but now that they had it, Faith wouldn't have chosen for it to be different. She was happy, she was content in herself, her life, and relationships, and although sometimes her old thoughts, memories, and insecurities crept back into her mind, she could almost always refocus now on her present. She lived in the now, and for once, that was not a result of a struggle to simply survive and get through, but a deliberate choice intended to keep herself focused on what was important, needed, and true.

Faith wasn't even 21 years old yet, but she already felt incredibly different from the seventeen year old girl, straggling through each day back in Sunnydale. Her life was hardly routine or even comfortable- there was way too much chaos, blood, and gore involved for that to ever be a possibility- but it was hers by choice, and she would never give it up for something easier.

It was through Angel Inc. that Faith had wound up in the Cleveland airport at all. Many of the cases that she and the others took on were a result of visions from Doyle, given to him, according to him and Angel at any rate, by The Powers That Be. Doyle would have a mental image of a person, place, or activity, sometimes with certain facts associated with them, and he and the others would take the information and use it to help an innocent, solve a murder or violent crime, or prevent something evil from occurring.

For Faith, who had had her own frequent experiences with the apparently holy beings over the past few years through her own guardian angel, Earl, this mysterious "power" of Doyle's sounded a little too close to her own situation of having a bossy, wisecracking, and apparently all-knowing holy being follow her around giving her orders that he preferred to term "tasks." On one of the occasions that Earl had popped in on her, shortly after she had met Doyle, she had asked him whether "The Powers That Be" and himself or other angels had any sort of connection, and she had received nothing close to a satisfactory answer- which was, she had grown to suspect over time, Earl's way of confirming her questions without ever actually saying so out loud.

Doyle's latest vision, directing Faith towards her current destination, had been that of a young Hispanic-looking girl, slapping a young man's face with enough force for his neck to break. Doyle had seen flashes of the same girl in a cemetery with vampires, Faith at her side, and a school sign reading William McKinley High School. This had been more than enough information for them to begin to piece together a picture of what it was that had or was about to occur with the young adults in question in his vision, and Angel Inc.'s part in the matter had become clear.

There was only a small number of Hispanic female students at William McKinley High School, and it was easy enough for Fred to break into the school's computer system and search its database with Doyle for him to recognize the face of Santana Lopez, the girl in his vision. Santana was seventeen, the only child of Dr. Rodrigo Lopez, a plastic surgeon, and Maribel Lopez, an interior decorator. The identity of the male in Doyle's vision was somewhat harder to identify, but Doyle eventually recognized him in the database as Finn Hudson, the school's quarterback. A common denominator in the two of them was involvement in the school's Glee Club, as identified on their school profiles.

Santana Lopez had no criminal record and only minor disciplinary infractions in school, although it had been noted to all that two of those infractions were fighting other students on school property. Having been informed of this, Faith had raised an eyebrow; she had thought that girls who were attractive cheerleaders from wealthy backgrounds never got busted for anything. But then, Santana Lopez was a triple minority- a fact soon discovered when Cordelia's research stumbled upon the local political commercial and its controversy in outing her as a lesbian student. Hearing Cordelia recount this, with no little disgust in her tone, Faith's initial eye rolls and impression of another Buffy type, up and coming, to work with, had softened and changed. This girl might be a rich cheerleader, but as Cordelia Chase herself had taught her, that didn't indicate that she wasn't going through some pretty tough shit in her life.

It had taken a call to Sunnydale to Giles, and his call to the Watcher's Council in England, to confirm what Faith had suspected as soon as it became clear in their research that Santana was indeed a human girl, leading a fairly normal life until the time of the incident in Doyle's vision. The girl was a Slayer, and unfortunately for her and everyone else around her, had absolutely no idea as to what that even meant, let alone how it now concerned her and her life.

It had become pretty clear to Faith over the past few years, both from her own dealings with them and from Buffy's, that the Watcher's Council were much more likely to screw things up than to actually help the Slayers they were supposedly guiding and assisting do better in their jobs. In the case of Santana Lopez, they had clearly screwed up pretty badly, because it was only after Giles's call that they even acknowledged her as a former potential, let alone the newest Slayer.

It had been almost a year now since Buffy's sacrificial death for the sake of saving her sister Dawn's life (and that of the rest of the world). She had been resurrected less than two months later- a decision that, as difficult as it had been for Buffy, was something Faith couldn't help but be grateful for. The other Slayer's relationship with her had been strained and complex more than it had been easy and affectionate, but she had nevertheless come to regard Buffy over time as truly a part of her family just as much as she now did Cordelia, Angel, Wesley, Doyle, and even Fred and Gunn, on some level. Buffy was her sister Slayer, even at a distance and with some undercurrent of rivalry always there, and she had felt after her death as thought a piece of herself had been torn away. Although another Slayer had been called in the wake of Buffy's death, Faith didn't know her, didn't even want to know her identity, not when she knew that eventually, this girl would die too. Up until Buffy's resurrection she had struggled, all the more so because Angel's devastation was impossible to take. Only Cordelia and often Earl could really ease her grief, and although she knew deep down that Willow's actions had been wrong, she could feel nothing but gratitude towards the girl for bringing Buffy back into the world.

She had not kept up or cared about, or even much thought about, the Slayer that had been raised up in Buffy's death. She didn't know how many had died and been called since. What was important was that the last Slayer's death had resulted in Santana Lopez being called, and the Watcher's Council, busy with the chaos during Glory's time on earth and then with Buffy's death after and what this entailed for them and Sunnydale's Hellmouth, had neglected to educate and train the potentials they had earlier identified. Santana, therefore, was now an active Slayer who was completely ignorant of her new powers.

And this was where Faith came in. As the only Slayer among Angel Inc., and the only person in the company included as part of Doyle's vision, it had been decided that she would be the one to get to Santana as fast as she could, certainly before the Watcher's Council bumbled in and screwed things up even further, and help to educate, train, and assist her- and safeguard her from being legally penalized, if necessary. And to her own lack of enthusiasm, she was to go alone.

It had just sort of worked out that way. Angel, with his sun aversion, obviously could only travel across the country in very specialized circumstances that couldn't be guaranteed. Cordelia had just signed up for local college courses and couldn't afford to miss the classes and potentially have to drop out, losing the money that she had managed to scrape together to afford it. Gunn had no interest or inclination to fly across the country to talk to what he referred as a "little girl with deadly weapon hands," and Fred, Doyle, and Wesley, despite Wesley's indignant protests, were judged to be more likely to make the girl nervous and agitated rather than be able to settle the situation for the better. Seemed to Faith that she herself wasn't exactly known for her skills of diplomacy, but somehow, it had come to be that she was the one to try her hand.

As she had watched Cordelia finish packing for her, still giving frequent sarcastic commentary as she went, Santana had found her thoughts drifting frequently from what Cordelia was saying to the Lopez girl, wondering what the girl must be thinking, how she must be feeling after what had happened.

For Faith, being identified as a Potential Slayer at age fifteen had been one of the best things that ever happened to her. Being taken into her Watcher's home, given steady meals, attention and concern on a level that had never been bestowed on her from her own parents, and regular lessons in how to kick undead ass had seemed nearly impossible in and of itself, supernatural abilities aside. Growing up as impoverished daughter of two alcoholics, one a member of the Irish Mafia, and both making it quite clear that Faith's existence was hardly a cherished fact in their lives, Faith had taken to heart the trailer trash label she was given early on and expected nothing more and certainly nothing better from herself or her lot in life. Having her Watcher, Diana Dormer, care not only about her behavior, but her nutrition, her health, her education, and most mind boggling to Faith of all, Faith herself, simply who she was as a person, was beyond anything Faith could quite comprehend. Being chosen as a Slayer had only pushed the improbable to the miraculous in Faith's eyes; it was later, with her Watcher's death and her own subsequent struggles after, that Faith thought she was finally living out the life she had always expected.

For Santana, discovering that she was a Slayer was undoubtedly going to be different than Faith's experience had been. The first trick would be getting her to believe it at all; the next would be to convince her that despite the immediate run of bad luck it had given her, with the unfortunate incident of the Hudson boy's death, her new abilities could eventually be a benefit.

Faith was so busy thinking of the younger girl, playing through various reactions she might have to her appearance in her life, that she hadn't seen Cordelia's fingers until they were snapping in front of her face, causing her to blink and barely squash her impulse to grab her wrist and force it down and away from her. Although Faith would never intentionally hurt Cordelia, it was sometimes difficult to lower her naturally defensive Slayer instincts even with the girl she trusted most.

"Hello, you are obviously not listening to a word I said, because not only is there a really unattractive glazed look in your eyes, I think there could be drool," Cordelia quipped, rolling her eyes at her, but she was smiling too in a way that Faith, if few others in her life, recognized as affectionate. She reached out to tug lightly at a wave of Faith's hair. "I'm saving you all the work here and you're still too mentally stimulated to even have a conversation? I'm not wearing anything showing cleavage so what gives?"

"Oh, I can picture your cleavage at will, any time, any place, whether you're gonna give up the goods or not," Faith said lightly, smirking back at Cordelia. As the other girl gave her shoulder a little shove but didn't lose her smile, Faith explained to her, "I was just thinking about the newby Slayer. Santana. You know, I kinda feel bad for the kid, is all. It's bad enough to kill someone when you know you're practically supergirl, and when you're doing it like in the line of duty or whatever and kind of expect shit can go down. But waking up one day and not even knowing you're different and then wham, someone's dead, that would really suck. It would be like all of a sudden you're a huge freak."

"Well, she's a Slayer, that's basically an alternative word for it," Cordelia shrugged, half serious, half kidding. But she was looking at Faith with something like amusement, her lips quirking further as she nudged her again. "Look at you, Miss Pillow Soft. Since when does get a bloody heart over spoiled teenagers?"

"Since you dug your stiletto heels into mine," Faith shot back, but she was smiling too as she moved back behind Cordelia and wrapped a loose arm around her waist, moving her hair aside to give her an audible and playful kiss on the neck. Cordelia squirmed, making as though she were going to move away from her as she made a noise as though disgusted, but she certainly didn't try very hard, and Faith could hear the smile in her voice as she replied.

"Touche."

Faith would have difficulty explaining in words to anyone who might ever ask just how it was that her relationship with Cordelia worked. The fact was, simply enough, that it did, through effort, compromise, and no shortage of shared burdens, difficulties, and caring. Although neither Cordelia nor Faith considered themselves to be lesbians, in the strictest sense of the word, there was definitely a relationship in place between them, and had been for the better part of the past three years. There was never a date where it became an official agreement between them, but rather a general time frame when it became unspoken and understood. Although technically Cordelia had the least to offer among the others in Angel Inc. when it came to magical powers and technological skills, it was she that Faith would trust and care for far and above any of the others. It wasn't a relationship that Faith was comfortable talking about very much, even with Cordelia, and answering questions from any nosy or stupid enough to ask was definitely not something she was willing to get into. But neither would they hide or deny what they felt for each other, although their way of showing it was often expressed through snark and playful touch rather than anything that the unobservant might see as straight up romance.

Everyone important in their lives knew the score, but most importantly of all, even without discussing it very often, Faith and Cordelia knew what they were to each other. That was really all that mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

Thinking back to her time with Cordelia before she had left for the airport, Faith felt a twinge in her chest that annoyed her, but didn't alarm her, as it might have a few years ago. She had learned over time that feelings, as scary as they could be, were not always the enemy, as much as they sometimes sucked, and as much as she still sometimes resisted letting them take over her. She missed Cordelia already, and even though that might be pathetic, it was what it was. As long as Cordelia missed her too, it was whatever…and she damn well better.

Locating her suitcase and beginning to carry it towards the airport's exit, Faith kept her eyes peeled for the rental car that had been described to her. When she saw the middle-aged man in a flannel shirt and loose jeans standing several feet away, his long gray hair touching his shoulders as he kept his hands in his pocket, smiling in her direction, she felt an automatic smile come over her face, and she shook her head wryly as she approached.

"I take it that's my car?"

"Good job, girl, already getting your detective hat on," Earl smiled, shifting his weight as Faith drew closer. "Knowin' you, you probably wanted a motorcycle or one of those ones without a top Cordelia calls the Angelmobile, but this one looks like it's gonna get you to where you need to go."

"What, no special angel delivery?" Faith bumped her shoulder lightly into Earl's, giving him another rueful smile. "I remember a day when you'd just poof me over to wherever you wanted me to be, kicking and screaming all the way, and then set my ass on fire if I didn't get say all the right things fast enough on the way. Could've saved us some money and time here if you'd just boot me over to Podunk, Ohio without all the mess of human transportation."

"You don't need all the special treatment anymore, being all grown up and responsible now," Earl said easily, simply smiling when Faith snorted in disbelieving amusement at his assessment of her. "Plus you've never been on a plane before, thought I'd let you have that experience."

"Ah, considerate of you," Faith knocked her shoulder into his lightly again, her smile genuine. Although she didn't see Earl nearly as often now as she had a few years ago, he still turned up frequently enough that his presence was almost like an old friend visiting. And maybe that was exactly his intention.

"So what's up, Earl? I've been all right, that's obviously why I haven't been seeing much of you or hearing you run your mouth at me lately, isn't it?"

"Look at you, another good guess running," Earl chuckled, nodding his head. "I've seen you, girl. You're right, you've been doing good. Tracking down demons and what not, helping people in trouble. Looks like you're doing your best to take my job away from me."

"Somehow I doubt you'd let that happen," Faith rolled her eyes at him. "I mean, until I entirely literally light a torch on someone's ass or deflate their boobs, I'm pretty sure my skills can't compete."

Earl laughed at that, remembering as she did his more unusual tactics of bringing her around to his will, when he had first taken her on as his charge. "And you and Cordelia are still doing good, huh? Bet you'll miss her."

Faith didn't answer that. She didn't feel a need to; he would probably just tease her all the more for it. She simply smiled, her eyes on his only briefly, and she was relieved when Earl just smiled back at her gently, not teasing her any further.

"I'm glad, Faith. And I'm proud of you. You've come a long way, and I ain't talking miles on the road."

Earl wasn't one to shower her, or anyone else, for that matter, with praise, so Faith let a moment pass where she digested and accepted the compliment, still not quite able to suppress a smile, before she changed the subject back to what had been on her mind even before Earl's appearance.

"So is this about the Ohio Slayer? How did I end up getting involved in this mess, was that girl's angel on vacation this week, or are you just making me do your work now? 'Cause I might be semi responsible now but I'm definitely not angel material…even your kind of angel."

Earl laughed, shaking his head, and removed his hands from his pockets, holding them palms up to Faith easily, as though in a form of a shrug.

"Nope, this one's all for you. Not everyone's gonna get an angel, girl. Some people just get friends."

"Right, so I'm traveling across the country to be a teenager's friend," Faith said suspiciously, eyes narrowed. "Just why is it that this Santana chick didn't get her accidental death erased like I did? Doesn't seem all that fair to me….there's more to this than what you're gonna tell me, isn't there?"

She raised an eyebrow at Earl, but he just smiled back at her, his eyes giving away nothing.

"Let's just say I ain't done with you yet, girl. You're gonna have fun with Miss Lopez…you might even figure out some things you got in common."

"Why, is she a hot, awesome badass too?" Faith asked lightly, but Earl just chuckled again.

"Oh, you'll see. You'll see."

And as suddenly as she had seen him, he was gone, leaving Faith standing there, wondering just what the hell it was she was getting herself into. Shaking her head, she found the key in its hide away box and opened the car's trunk, setting her suitcase inside. As she walked around to the driver's seat and slid behind the wheel, she took a breath, setting her mind for what was to come. Earl's cryptic words settled it; this was gonna be a challenge.

88

Santana became aware first of the voices, although she didn't recognize them or their sources at first. To her ears it was an unintelligible buzz, soft enough that the words seemed to blur almost into a hum. Then she felt a dull aching in her ribs, her right side, and her knees, a sharper, more forceful pounding in her head, and even before she attempted to open her eyes, she was sure that her vision would blur. She couldn't seem to piece together where she was, what was happening, or why it was that she ached so badly. Every thought she had seemed fragmented and fuzzy, and when she opened her eyes, it took several moments before her vision cleared enough for her to clearly see around herself. Even then, what she took in only confused her more.

She was lying in a bed with plain sheets and silver guard rails at the sides. There was bandaging and gauze on one arm. The walls of the room were solid white, almost glowing, and as Santana's eyes slowly flickered, taking it in, she saw the small table across from her bed, the TV mounted across from her on the wall, and her mother's strained face, from where she was seated beside her in an uncomfortable-looking chair. As Santana's eyes met hers, Maribel Lopez's face broke out into a relieved but somewhat emotional smile, and Santana thought she was blinking back tears before she stood, reaching out to gently run a hand over Santana's forehead. When Santana flinched, Maribel made an apologetic face, gentling her touch further.

"Hi, mija…I am happy to see you awake."

"Where am I?" Santana asked her, hearing her voice come out raspier and less recognizable than she was used to.

"You're in the hospital, carina," Maribel responded softly, still just barely brushing her fingertips over Santana's face, shifting her touch then to her cheek in an effort not to hurt. "You were in an accident. Do you not remember?"

Santana did, vaguely, when she tried. There had been a car, and it had been right up on her by the time she saw…she hadn't had time to try to get out of the way. Had it actually hit her?

"You're going to be all right, mija," Maribel told her, resting her fingertips against her daughter's cheek. "Your papi has examined you himself and he is making sure that you will get the best care. He says that the limited extent of your injuries, considering, are amazing, and already you are healing remarkably fast. He called it a miracle, a miracle from St. Raphael and St. Luke. Just lie back and rest, and all of this will be figured out."

But lying back and resting was not anything that Santana could reasonably do. Not when her memory was beginning to stir, when rapid images were beginning to flood through her mind. Running out of the high school doors, panic seizing her chest…the horrified, panicked faces of the other students, Puck's face, inches from her and lit with rage. Rachel, crumpled in tears against Mr. Shue's chest. Quinn, shaking, her eyes round, Brittany's face slack with shock. The wary, stricken look in Mr. Shue's face, the grimness in Shelby's, and worst of all, the loud cracking noise of Finn's neck, snapping back, the way he had fallen back from her, the sudden emptiness in his eyes. His body, unmoving at her feet, and the terrible sense of power that had flooded through Santana's own.

It was what she was remembering then, it was all she could think about, and it couldn't be real. It couldn't be real…it was all a delusion, a hallucination brought on by her injury. Wasn't it? It was a dream…it had to be a dream.

But then why was her mother's hand shaking against her cheek? Why were Maribel's lips pressed into a thin line, her efforts to speak so soothingly to Santana betrayed by the lines on her brow?

"Mami," Santana said slowly, hearing her voice shake almost as badly as before, the near pleading in her tone. "It was a dream…wasn't it? It was just a dream…none of this happened. With…with Finn…I didn't…it wasn't real, was it? Was it?"

She could see the way her mother pressed her lips together, the way she hesitated, taking a breath from her nose, and Santana knew. She didn't need her mother to tell her…she knew. Tears sprang to her eyes, and as she started to shake her head, trying to deny, to thrust the memories away, she ignored the pain the gesture gave her, even hoping it would drive them away.

"No. Don't even say it. No, that didn't happen. No."

"Lie down, baby," Maribel whispered, her hand moving to stroke Santana's hair. She pushed gently at her daughter's uninjured shoulder, trying to get her to lay down again. "Lie down, you need to rest, carina."

But rest was the last thing on Santana's mind. Because her mother was not telling her that it wasn't true; her mother was not telling her that it was only a dream, that she didn't have any reason to worry. Her mother wasn't saying that at all, and Santana could see in her eyes the answer she didn't want to hear out loud.

It had happened. She had really killed Finn Hudson. Finn Hudson was really dead, because of her.

Santana's limbs began to shake uncontrollably, and it took her several moments of delayed irritation to realize that the loud gasping noises she was hearing were coming from her own throat. As her mother's hands continued to stroke, trying to soothe, Santana grasped out for her, clutching her until she heard her mother's pained gasp and saw the bruising already darkening her tanned skin. What the hell was wrong with her, that she could hurt people so easily now, without even trying at all? What kind of freak was she?

"Mami…mami, I didn't mean it," Santana choked, forcing herself to loosen her grip, sucking in deep gulping breaths that seemed to deplete as much air from her as they gave. "I didn't mean it…I'm sorry…I didn't mean…"

She wasn't sure if she was talking then about her mother's arms, Finn, or both, but it didn't matter to Maribel. She stroked Santana's hair, careful, Santana noticed with renewed horror, to avoid putting herself in easy reach of Santana's hands again. Her own mother was afraid that she would hurt her- and obviously with very good reason.

"Don't talk about it, baby," she told her. "You're going to be okay. Of course you didn't mean it…it was just an accident, just a terrible accident. Papi and I, we'll make sure of it. You'll be okay."

But even with her mother's hands in her hair, even with her supportive words and presence, Santana felt as though she couldn't breathe. Because how could her mother make that promise, when even she didn't want Santana's hands to squeeze too hard?

88

Santana's mother wanted, once Santana had calmed down enough to breathe at a reasonably normal rate, to get up and get a nurse to check Santana over, as well as her father, who worked in the same hospital. Santana had been reluctant to let her go. It might seem ridiculous to voice aloud, but she was afraid that if she let her mother out of her sight, she would just keep going and never come back to her. How could Santana blame her, after what she had done?

But Maribel did come back to her, with both a nurse and Dr. Lopez in tow. Checking out her vital signs, the bandaging of her arms, ribs, and head, they had both murmured amazement at the relatively minor nature of Santana's injuries, and how fast they seemed to be healing. Santana paid little attention to this. To her, having a "mild" concussion, cracked ribs, bloodied arm, and bloodied and scraped sides didn't equal minor injuries. But then, she supposed that the alternative, considering she had been hit by a car, would have been death, and in comparison she had gotten off relatively lightly.

What she wanted from her father was for him to tell her what had happened back at the school, after she had been hit. Had Finn already been taken to the hospital too? Did his family know? Was it on the news or in the paper already? What were people saying, what was going to happen, when the school quarterback was literally dead by her hand?

But Dr. Lopez refused to answer any of her questions, and Santana didn't fail to notice that he barely even looked her in the eye. Instead, he simply told her to keep her questions to herself and informed her, though in a much more abrupt tone than her mother had, that she would be taken care of. He didn't give any details as to how that might be, leaving Santana's imagination to take on the worst. Wasn't "taken care of "sometimes a euphemism for something sinister? What if they couldn't be bothered to truly help her at all…what if her parents were so disgusted, or so frightened of her, that they sent her away?

Santana hadn't turned on the TV in her room; it hadn't even occurred to her to want to. How could she want to watch a TV show when her life was falling apart? But when her father mentioned something under his breath about at least the fact that she was a minor had meant her name wasn't mentioned on TV, she had all but clawed for the remote to it, wanting to know exactly what it was that was being said about her. What if all her classmates were getting on the news and spreading stories about her? What if they were all calling her a murdering bitch to the world, before she had a chance to even try to explain? What if they were all urging the police to come pick her up because she didn't deserve to be out of jail for even another day?

Her mother had stopped her, taking the remote straight out of the hand and even going so far as to remove it from the room entirely. At Santana's protests, she had just shook her head, her lips set into a grim line.

"No. Absolutely not. You don't need to see what they're saying, Santana, you don't need-"

"But they're saying stuff about me, then!" Santana had cried, sitting up so fast that her ribs pulled painfully and she barely suppressed a hiss. "Have you watched it, Mami? I need to know what's going on, I need to know what's happening!"

"You need to rest," Dr. Lopez had insisted, backing her mother up. "You do not need to see any outside influences or opinions, because you must simply be able to be honest and tell the truth, without getting upset or confused by what others say or do."

He had paused then, for the first time meeting her eyes, though it had seemed to Santana that he was finding it almost painful to do so, before he asked her at last.

"Santana…what is it that happened at that school? The boy, did he…did he harm you? If you were protecting yourself…you will be covered by law, it is-"

"No, no, Papi, he didn't hurt me," Santana assured him quickly, shaking her head. She could tell from her father's hesitation, from the tension in his back and shoulders, that he was anticipating something terrible that she had been holding back. Being hit by him, maybe even sexual assault…and if someone had told him that she and Finn had had sex once, EW, there was no telling what he might be coming up with.

"He didn't, I was just…I was angry, and…"

She trailed off, because just how could she explain it to her father, when she couldn't explain it to herself?

Dr. Lopez's eyebrows drew together as he seemed to be drawing his own conclusions to the blanks that his daughter was laying out for him. He gestured with one hand, his words hesitant as he finished up for her with his own conjecture.

"So you…you hit him with something, in the neck? Or did you push him off the stage, or the bleachers?"

"No!" Santana shook her head vehemently, bringing sharp stabs of pain shooting through her shoulders and back but ignoring it in her effort to make her father understand. "No, Papi, no! I never pushed him, he was just sitting down anyway, there was nothing to push him off of! No, I just…I just hit him…that's…that's all I did, I just hit him. I shouldn't have, I know, but he made me so upset, and he was saying…."

She trailed off again, biting down hard on the inside of her cheeks and blinking back the tears again pressing against her eyes. Because how could she explain to her parents the reasons she was so upset with Finn? How could she tell them that Finn had outed her, not only to the school, but eventually, to all of Ohio, whenever the political commercials hit? How could she put herself at even more risk of their horror of her, their rejection and withdrawal, when she had already done so much to push them past their limits of love and tolerance? How could she tell them now, under these circumstances, that she was a lesbian?

She couldn't; even thinking the words choked her throat and made it impossible to speak at all. She felt her mother reach for her hand and squeeze, the deep concern in her eyes making Santana feel worse than ever about her own forced secrecy, and her father crossed his arms, taking a step back as he continued to try to fill in the blanks that Santana was leaving.

"What did you hit him with, Santana?"

"Nothing!" Santana insisted, squeezing her mother's hand again before her mother's tight-lipped grimace reminded her to loosen her hold. "Nothing, Papi, just my hand! I didn't even hit him with my fist, I just slapped him with my hand!"

"Santana," Dr. Lopez said slowly, after a long pause where he simply regarded his daughter, his expression difficult to interpret. "From what I understand, the young man sustained a broken neck from the impact of…whatever it was that occurred. He is nearly a foot taller than you and 100 pounds heavier, and he played quarterback on the football team and was undoubtedly accustomed to harsh physical contact. It would take a considerable force to be able to break a young man's neck with a single hit. I want to help you, hija, but if I am to help you, you will have to be honest. What you are saying is not possible for the extent of injury the young man received."

As carefully and neutrally as her father had worded this, without any accusations directed her way, all Santana could hear was that he thought she was lying. He thought she had deliberately hurt Finn, maybe even deliberately killed him, and if her own father thought that, then how was it even possible that anyone else wouldn't?

"Papi, no, I promise," she cried, hearing her voice choke up as she blinked harder still against the tears threatening to overflow. "I'm telling you the truth! I don't know how it happened, I really don't, but I'm telling you the truth!"

As her father stared at her, his lips thinning into a straight line, Santana turned her attention to her mother, almost beseeching as she pleaded with her to understand, to believe, in the way that it seemed her father could not.

"Mami, Mami, I promise, I'm telling you the truth. Mami, don't you believe me…Mami, please-"

"Okay, baby, okay, shhh," Maribel cut her off, reaching out to brush back her hair, her fingers cool and gentle against her skin, but Santana could see that her hands were shaking. "I believe you, of course I believe you. We will figure this out. I do believe you."

But she had hesitated before she spoke, and Santana swore she could see doubt in her eyes too, even as she continued to stroke her hair. When she spoke again, Maribel's voice was very soft, hesitant, but she kept her eyes on her daughter's, vigilant as to her reaction.

"Santana…there is something I need to ask you, mija."

"Mari," Dr. Lopez said in an undertone, giving her a look that Santana immediately recognized as a warning. But why was he warning her mother? What did he not want her to say…or was it that he didn't want to hear Santana's answer?

Maribel ignored him regardless, still running her fingers through Santana's hair. She dropped her voice a little lower, as though to soften the impact of her words, as she went on.

"Santana…they're saying…"

"Who's saying?" Santana interrupted, unable to stop herself. "Who's talking to you, Mami?"

"It doesn't matter who, Santanita," her mother attempted to deflect, shaking her head. "It…baby, it doesn't matter. I just…what I need to know, your father and I…" she paused, then plunged ahead. "They are saying that this happened, the….accident, with the boy…because of what he said to you. About…about you. Liking girls." She paused again, searching Santana's face as her hand cupped her cheek. "Santanita, is this the truth?"

Santana's skin prickled with anxiety, her thoughts stumbling and crashing over each other until she couldn't seem to come up with a coherent answer even in her mind, let alone be able to speak it aloud. Aware of her father's eyes on her, narrowed intently, and still feeling her mother's cool hand against her cheek, she shook her head, but it wasn't in an effort to deny her mother's words. Rather, it was an attempt on her part to thrust away from herself everything that had happened, everything she still did not understand in the past several hours. She kept shaking her head, even as her mother kept speaking, her own words a little choked as she tried to still her daughter's face with her hand.

"Santana, carina, it doesn't matter if it's true. Don't you know that, baby, it doesn't matter. We love you. We love you, mija, and if this is true, we will get through."

Santana never did acknowledge the truth of it aloud. Instead, tears began to streak down her cheeks, and she stopped shaking her head, closing her eyes. As tears continued to leak through her closed lids, she felt her mother wiping them away with such tenderness the tears came harder still. Eyes still closed, Santana tried not to think of how her father's face might look, when she could not see, as she spoke aloud to her mother hoarsely.

"Mami…who knows?"

Maribel didn't answer her, not with specific words. Instead, she stroked her cheek again, dropping a kiss on Santana's forehead, and whispered to her again that she loved her. This response was more than clear enough to Santana, without Maribel needing to tell her anything more.

The answer was everyone. Everyone knew that Santana was a lesbian, and that almost certainly meant that everyone knew what Santana had done. If Santana had thought that her life was difficult before, it was nothing compared to where she was now. Without a doubt, her life as she had once known it was over.


	4. Chapter 4

It had never occurred to Santana, despite her anxieties and fears about what she had done, that she might actually have to speak with the police about what had happened. Somehow public opinion and speculation had seemed more pressing and alarming to her than any long term possible consequences, maybe because she was already too agitated for her mind to allow for her to think any further than it already was. So when the two policemen showed up at her hospital room's entrance, displaying their badges and introducing themselves, Santana had been so stunned by it that she had barely been able to tell them her name, let alone answer any of their questions.

Because she was a minor, both her parents had been notified to sit with her as witnesses during the officers' presence and interview of her. But if the officers had been expecting great clarity from Santana, they were to be disappointed. Just the fact of their presence and what it indicated- Finn's death, Santana's potentially serious consequences for it, and the fact that clearly, it wasn't just her father who disbelieved her version of events- was enough for Santana to become so anxious and overwhelmed with fear she couldn't speak at all. Within five minutes of their questioning she had started to hyperventilate, gasping and choking for air as tears started to stream all over again down her cheeks, and her father had firmly closed off the interview, stating that Santana was injured, in shock, and needed rest. Santana was certain that she had heard him make mention of a lawyer being present in the future, and that did nothing to calm her. If she needed a lawyer, it was even worse off than she could have imagined.

Even as the police officers left, indicating that they would be back soon, Santana had lay in bed, her mother's hand resting lightly on her forearm, and struggled not to succumb to panic again. It seemed terribly ironic that it was Finn Hudson, rather than Brittany, who had eventually brought such chaos to her life.

88

One thing that Faith hadn't considered, and that dawned on her as a potential problem as she drove her rental car through the city limits of Lima, Ohio, was how exactly she was going to share with Santana the information she needed to. Locating her hadn't been a problem; a few well placed calls had helped her figure out that Santana was currently a patient at the local hospital, which in and of itself was pretty curious toFaith. Had someone attacked the girl after she killed the young man? Or had she attempted to harm herself in some way, out of guilt?

Faith was pretty confident too of her ability to get through hospital policies and security to be able to see Santana. What she didn't know was exactly what she'd need to tell her, or how she would react. And if the girl had visitors or parents who wanted to know who the hell Faith was and why she was barging in to see their kid? Well, this could go any number of ways, but Faith had always been good at thinking on her feet.

As it turned out, it wasn't quite as much of a problem as Faith had originally predicted it might be. She found Santana's room easily enough, and when she knocked lightly on the door, then pushed it open when she received no response from the room's occupants, she saw that the only person inhabiting it was the girl in the hospital bed, presumably Santana Lopez herself.

It looked to Faith like the mystery of Santana's need for hospitalization was due to either being beat up or some kind of accident, rather than a suicide attempt, because she couldn't think of any suicide attempt that would result in needing bandages to her head, arms, and ribs. The girl was in her mid to late teens, with light brown skin, long, slightly wavy black hair currently mussed around her head, and intense, dramatic features that struck Faith, somehow, in a way she couldn't quite describe. There was something about her that seemed almost familiar, in person, but Faith shrugged it off, focusing instead on the girl's blank, vaguely suspicious look fixed her way as she closed the door behind her and took a step closer.

"Santana Lopez?" she asked, keeping her voice calm, neutral, even as she looked the girl over, quickly assessing her appearance.

The girl's eyes were darkly circled, her features tired and strained. It looked pretty obvious that she hadn't been sleeping well, and Faith couldn't exactly blame her for that. Faith noticed that she was rather small and thin in appearance, reminding her vaguely of Buffy in her frame- although Santana's breasts were noticeably larger than Buffy's, to the extent that Faith immediately suspected they weren't entirely natural. Were teenagers even allowed to get breast implants? Did that happen outside of California?

Faith's initial impression of Santana was entirely correct. Santana hadn't eaten since lunch on the day of Finn's death, and she had vomited after drinking the small amount of orange juice her mother had made her swallow. She had slept fitfully and woke up terrified from the vivid images of death that had haunted her dreams. Seeing visions of girls approximately her own age, but of different colors and ethnicities, seemingly from different time periods in history, all of them killing what looked like monsters to Santana's untrained eyes, had left her not just sleepless and anxious, but frightened of the meaning behind the dreams. First she herself had killed someone, however accidentally, and now she was dreaming of murder, over and over. Was she going completely insane? Had she turned into a psychopathic killer over night?

Santana gave a tight nod in response to Faith's question, her eyes still trained to the older girl's face. She looked her up and down quickly, taking in Faith's dark jeans and red tank top, hardly the typical wear of hospital workers, and seemed to be processing this as she spoke, her voice slightly hoarser than Faith had expected- almost, but not quite as husky as Faith's own voice.

"Yeah…are you a nurse? You don't look like one. I don't need anything, they already changed my bandages and I'm not even bleeding anymore."

"Nope, not a nurse," Faith said easily. She eased the door shut behind her, keeping her movements so casual that hopefully, Santana wouldn't notice that she was effectively blocking the room's exit and entrance, and therefore giving them some temporary privacy for their talk. "Santana- I can call you Santana, right? Ms. Lopez probably reminds you of your mom, and honestly, Santana is just kind of a wicked name to carry around. Way cooler than mine. If you lined up fifty names in a row and had fifty different people pick which one they thought I should get saddled with, guaranteed, Faith would be the last pick, every time."

"Yeah, whatever…" Santana muttered, most likely in response to Faith's question about whether she could call her by her first name.

Faith noticed that she was picking at the cuticles of one hand above the sheet on her bed, jabbing at it with long fingernails, just enough that one finger had started to bleed. Faith ignored this, continuing to talk in a casual tone, as though she had known Santana all her life and found it only natural to be in a room with her alone. Somehow, she had a sense that this girl was the type who needed to be eased in, abrupt announcements a no go.

"Wicked. So you said you don't need anything and you're healing up pretty good, is anyone here with you today, checking in, keeping you company? Other than the people that come to poke and prod and threaten you with pills and probes?"

"My mom's with me, but she went to get some coffee in the cafeteria," Santana replied, still prodding at the cuticles of her hand, but then her hands stilled as she sat up a little straighter, cocking her head to one side and fixing Faith with an even more guarded stare. "Okay, if you're not a nurse, and you're not a cop, and you're not like…I don't know, a shrink, or a lawyer or something, then who exactly are you?"

A flicker of horror flashed over her eyes then, and her spine stiffened, her voice growing a little higher and tighter in pitch as she asked, "Are you a reporter? Because you can just get the hell out right now, I'm not talking to you and it's illegal to come in here and film me without me knowing, I'm a minor and my father could sue you for violating a patient's privacy! No one is allowed to have a camera in a hospital, and you-"

"Whoa, whoa, easy, tiger," Faith gave short laugh, holding up both hands in surrender and shaking her head. She had to give the girl one thing, she was obviously more fiery than she looked. Already, she was beginning to see little signs of exactly what it was that Earl had been referring to.

"I'm not a reporter, I don't even own a camera, and if you'll happen to notice, I don't even have a friggin' purse, let alone some hidden high tech spy equipment. I'm here to help you out, however I can. Seriously.

Faith thought Santana's eyes softened, but it was difficult to tell for sure when the girl kept such a wary look about her, and her tone didn't change at all when she answered.

"Okay, then who exactly are you? And how are you going to help me, how do you know that I even need your help?"

"Well, you did kill a guy with a slap, and I'm pretty sure that more than likely, as a result, you've got the police, your parents, all your friends, and everyone else who's heard about it on your back over it," Faith pointed out, giving a shrug. "Seems to me like anyone in that boat probably could use a hand, and no, I'm not gonna make a pun out of that, even if it is really, really tempting."

She watched Santana, seeing how the girl's brow remained scrunched, how she seemed to be considering carefully what she was saying, even as her expression remained fixed into a scowl. She didn't wait for her permission or comment. She just went ahead with her explanation, remaining back a slight distance from her.

"I'm Faith Lehane. I'm from Angel Inc," she informed her, deciding on the spot that maybe it was best if she didn't go into an explanation of the fact that Angel Inc. happened to be halfway across the United States from Santana herself. "What we do is we look for unusual cases and circumstances where people are in trouble of some kind and need our help, usually with stuff that's potentially supernatural or kind of extraordinary in what happened, and we do what we can to help out. We're not police, we're not anything to do with the law, and actually, we kind of work around and under and over the law, when we need to. So when we find out about cases like yours, with something kind of unique going on, we look into it and see what we can do to help. So if that means getting the law off your back, helping you pick up and move on with your life, helping you out with your powers, that's what we do. And you're actually in pretty good luck compared to some people, Santana, because we already know exactly what's going on with you and what we can do to help."

She stopped, waiting to allow Santana a chance for a reaction, for any questions she might have to ask. She wasn't at all surprised that Santana had some; she didn't seem at all like the kind of girl to blindly accept anything she was told.

"What do you mean, cases like mine? How do you know about me at all? Were you watching the news? It's already on the news?! Shit!"

"Hey, what matters is I'm gonna help you move on with your life, the way it's gonna be now," Faith tried to distract Santana from her current direction of thought, even as the girl ignored her, her thoughts stuck on the same track.

"God, everyone knows, everyone has to have seen…between Rachel's mouth and the news, GOD…they're not gonna arrest me, are they? They can't, it was an accident! I didn't mean to, I swear! I think something was wrong with him, in his head, like maybe it was misshapen or, I don't know, had huge empty spaces without cushioning, and that's why it hurt him so much? I mean I always said he was big and stupid but maybe there was a physical reason for that, maybe he really did have something mentally wrong and that's why-"

"Hey, hey, chill out. Take a breath or ten, you gonna let me do some explanations or are you gonna make up a bunch of wrong ones on your own?" Faith laughed, shaking her head.

Seeing Santana's eyes narrow at her, the girl's chin lifting defensively as she crossed her arms even more tightly across her chest, Faith couldn't hold back her smirk. If the girl had been pouting instead of scowling, something about her expression and posture would have reminded her of a pissed off Buffy. As it was, instead, she reminded her of herself.

"There wasn't anything wrong with Finn. Physically, anyway. Well, before you slapped him, obviously there was a lot wrong after-"

Seeing Santana flinch, Faith cut off that direction of conversation fast. Why the hell had Earl and the Powers that Be thought that SHE was the one to do the sensitive talk thing with this kid?

"You're saying it's me then," Santana stated rather than questioned, her voice stiff. "Something is wrong with me."

Faith could tell, from the way she kept her voice so controlled, the muscles of her jaw visibly flexing with her swallowing, that she was trying hard to keep herself calm. This was a girl who didn't want to let anyone see herself in any way that she hadn't chosen, a girl who hated to be out of control. And yet Faith could see the wet sheen of tears in her eyes, how she was already blinking several times to hold them back, and that spoke to her much more plainly than Santana's words or efforts of toughness. This was just a kid, a kid who was hurt and struggling, and to her own surprise, Faith felt for her, more than she would have expected. There was something about the contrast of the kid's efforts at hardness and the obvious emotion in her eyes that made Faith step closer, fighting an impulse to touch her. She was pretty sure Santana wouldn't accept that from her. And what the hell did she want to for- since when was she a touchy-feely, comforting kind of person, with anyone outside her small circle of family-type friends?

"No, I didn't say that, Santana. Nothing is wrong with you, you're just different now. It's not a bad thing, it's actually kind of awesome, once you get used to it and figure out what you can use it for." Sighing, Faith held up her hands again as though in a gesture of peace, nodding towards the steel frame of Santana's hospital bed.

"Look, I was gonna do it the long way, but with you firing questions like bullets I can see you're the kind of girl that wants to get to the point, and I can be down with that. So let's do a demo. Take hold of the headboard, and break off one of the bars."

When Santana stared at her, eyebrows raising towards her hairline, Faith shrugged again, crossing her own arms over her chest as she lifted an eyebrow right back at her.

"What else you got to do today that's so much more important? Go on, try it."

The sheen of tears in Santana's eyes had disappeared as she rolled them to the ceiling, letting out a huff of impatient breath. But then she reached backward, wrapping her fingers around one of the headboard's posts, and squeezed, then pulled, obviously putting little effort into it. It didn't matter. Almost immediately the post dented in, then ripped from its frame entirely. As Santana's eyes bulged, and she sucked in her breath, her face paling, Faith drew closer to her, reaching over her head and easily pulling off a second post. As she held it up to Santana as though in evidence, she spoke to her calmly, eyes on Santana's.

"It would have been better for you if the Council got off their ass and gave you some advanced warning sooner, but they didn't, and now you've got me. I guess. Which is lucky for you, because you get to skip the whole long winded speech about into every generation born there is one girl chosen and blah blah blah. It's kinda out dated anyway, seeing how in this generation, we got three."

Then she paused, furrowing her brow slightly as she rethought this. "Well, I guess we're the same generation, sort of. Buffy's 21 and I'm 20 and you're, what, sixteen, is that still the same generation?"

She didn't wait for an answer from Santana; she hadn't really expected one. Instead, she launched into her explanation of Slayers- the much abridged version.

"Okay, Cliff Notes version. Everything you ever saw in the horror movies, about vampires and demons and monsters and ghosts and ghouls? All true. They're out there, and you've probably already come across them, seeing as you're not too far from Cleveland and that's the second Hellmouth. So obviously, their goal is kill and eat people and have a bloodbath party on humans every night, because that's what gets evil's rocks off. So this is where we come in. There are girls who become Slayers when they're fifteen, sixteen years old, and that would be me, and you now too. Oh, and Buffy, but she's back in Sunnydale, so you're probably not gonna be meeting her any time soon. Especially since she's still recovering from the dead stint. Again. So anyway-"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Santana interrupted, her voice raising almost into a shout. Faith saw that she was gripping the bedsheets tightly enough that they were starting to tear, and her features were strained and taut with her stress.

"Well, that's what I was trying to tell you, if you'd listen long enough, you'd know," Faith said lightly, trying to be patient. No matter how many times, in the course of her time at Angel Inc., that she had been required to explain the existence of the supernatural world to people, it always still annoyed as much as it amused her how slow they were to believe what was blatantly obvious.

"Like I was saying, used to be, there would be a Slayer, and there would only be one. But see, Buffy, she's the one back in Sunnydale, she has this habit of dying and coming back, she's pretty much like a blonde ex-cheerleader zombie at this point. So the first time she died, it called this chick Kendra, and when Kendra died, it called me. So Buffy died again last summer, and it called some other chick, and I guess a few other Slayers that aren't as obviously awesome as me and B died and called other girls too, and now the last one just kicked it, and it called you. So now you're the newest Slayer."

She paused, giving Santana some time to react, ask questions if she had any. But the girl had nothing but exclamations. Her face reddening, she shook her head vehemently, glaring at Faith with considerable heat as she spat out at her, "You said you knew it was an accident! How the hell can you stand there and call me a SLAYER like that's okay?! Just because you and this Buffy killed people- because that's what you're saying, isn't it, you're talking about some group of killers, like some stupid GANG- you don't get to call me one too, you don't get to invite me into your stupid little club! I'm not a stupid SLAYER, and you need to get the hell out of this room before I call security!"

"Okay, conclusions are being jumped to," Faith's eyebrows lifted again, and she exhaled, trying again for patience that was quickly wearing thin. "I didn't call you a killer. I called you a Slayer. It's a title, not a description. Buffy and me, we didn't kill anyone." She paused again, rethinking the veracity of this statement. "Well, there was that one time, but it got erased, so it doesn't actually count. I think."

"This is insane," Santana declared, still shaking her head, her messy hair whipping against her cheeks with the force of it. She pressed her lips into a thin line, seeming to be breathing too quickly to be able to remain calm. "You're insane! I'm not gonna sit here and talk to some killer who thinks I can join her stupid murder club, this is-"

"Hey, again, not a murderer here. I think," she added as a qualifier, making a mental note to ask Earl, the next time she saw him. "Slayers don't kill. Humans, anyway. We slay vampires, mostly, and all the other supernatural evil type things. It's our job description, not a moral judgment. That's why you're strong now, Santana, so you can have the ability to do the job you got chosen for. You get the supernatural strength and speed and endurance, and in exchange you're supposed to make it your life mission to wipe out the bad guys. The non-human ones, anyway. Even though more than you'd think, the human ones end up in the mix too. It's always girls, and young ones, probably 'cause we're still cool enough to think it's awesome instead of a major drag, with the risking your life and all. So that's why you're like you are, and that's what you're supposed to do with it, because this is who you are now. You're the newest Slayer, Santana. You've been chosen."

She took a step back, giving Santana both physical and emotional space to try to process what she had just been told. Santana didn't seem to need much time to digest. Her reaction was immediate, intense, and sharply negative as she shook her head emphatically, almost spitting out her response to the older girl.

"I don't believe it. I don't believe a damn word you're saying. I don't even know who the hell you are, so why should I believe one psychotic word you come up with? You're completely insane!"

Ah, the predictable denial route. That one didn't get old fast at all, Faith sighed to herself.

Shrugging, she threw the challenge back to Santana, barely raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, okay, so I'm crazy. You explain it to me then. How come you can now bend and break metal bars and kill a guy twice your size with a single slap, when the last time you thought you were badass enough to get in a fight with a kid twice your size, you ended up with a concussion? And yeah, I know about the wrestling girl slamming you around against the lockers last year, I read your school records, all of them," Faith added, when Santana's eyes widened, her mouth opening with obvious intent to question, and then slowly closed again, brows slanting towards her nose. "I know all kinds of shit about you, Santana. I know you're cheerleading captain and I know you make almost straight A's, even though you're not taking honors classes, and I know you're in the Glee club at school and go to mass with your abuela on Sundays. I know you volunteer as a candy striper at this exact same hospital 'cause your dad is a bigshot surgeon and he pulled strings for you to get in. I know you were outed, publicly, and that sucks majorly, but I also know that you are a smart girl with a hell of a lot of talent, and I know damn well you don't want to throw your life away going to jail or DJJ over what was nothing but an accident because you didn't know who or what you were."

She took a breath, eyes locked on Santana's as she closely watched her expression. Santana didn't speak, didn't interrupt or contradict, and in fact, she barely seemed to be breathing, her lips thinned into such a small line they nearly disappeared. Faith spoke to her again, more quietly, but with just as much intensity as she finished up.

"You got called for a reason, Santana Lopez, just like Buffy did, and just like I did. Me, I thought it was a fluke, back when I was a kid your age, that I wasn't worth shit and I'd better get as much from it as I could before someone figured out it was a mistake and took it away from me. B, she thought it was a burden, and that was what she wanted, for someone to tell her it was all a mistake and take it off her hands. You? Sounds like maybe you've got a little of both going on. Me and B, we know why we were called now, Santana, and even if a lot of shit comes with it, we wouldn't trade it now, because it's who we are. It's what we live for, and B, it's kinda what she dies for too. I don't know why you were called any more than you do, but I know it's not a mistake, and one day you're gonna figure it out. Which I guess is where I come in, to help you get to that point."

"You're crazy," Santana repeated, shaking her head, but her voice was weak, and she wouldn't make eye contact. She was tearing again at the sheets at her hands, not seeming to realize even as she looked down directly at it that she was ripping up the fabric. "I don't believe a word you're saying, you're obviously fresh off the funny farm ferry."

"Right then, you keep on telling yourself that, and meanwhile you're gonna keep ripping up everything you touch too hard, and maybe a few more people will drop dead, but since I'm the crazy one here and I don't know what I'm talking about, I guess you're gonna figure out a way to make that totally my fault," Faith retorted, starting to lose some of the patience she had been trying with extreme effort to hold onto throughout the entire exchange. "Look, Princess Poutface, here's how it's gonna be. I'm gonna go get myself some coffee, see if any of the food in the caf is actually edible, maybe book myself a hotel room, 'cause like it or not, I'm gonna be here a while. I'll give you time to talk to your mom or pop or whoever it is you wanna tell what a nutcase I am, and then in an hour or two I'll come back, and you and me are gonna do some more pow wow. Oh, and if you're thinking security is gonna be able to keep me out if you call, think again, Slayer Junior."

As though to prove her point, she broke another bar over Santana's headboard, waving it in front of her before letting it drop onto her lap. Backing out of the door before Santana could either burst into tears, or leap out of bed and try to pummel her- both equally strong possibilities, if the kid's expression was anything to go by- Faith strode down the hallway, not giving a glance behind her.

She heard the chuckling behind her and groaned aloud even before she heard Earl's voice address her, as amused as ever by her newest predicament.

"Ain't easy when little girls don't believe in you and want to try and do things their own way, is it, girl?"

Exhaling loudly, Faith stopped walking, turning to face him and throwing out her arms with somewhat overdramatic exasperation.

"Remind me again why this kid doesn't get her own damn angel, why am I doing your dirty work here? And don't you dare say I was anything like her, there is no way in hell I was so damn stubborn against obvious common sense for no reason, and so friggin' annoying!"

"No, you weren't as stubborn as Miss Lopez is, you're right about that," Earl smirked, catching up with Faith easily and coming to stand beside her, shoulder to shoulder. "You were worse."

"Oh, no fucking way!" Faith burst out with, a little more loudly than she had intended.

When a passing nurse gave her an odd look, she realized that it was very likely that she looked, to the casual observer, as though she were standing in the middle of the hallway talking to herself, as most people could not see Earl unless he chose to allow for them to. And of course Earl wasn't about to present himself right now to help her out; he was enjoying getting on her nerves way too much for that. Faith swore she never could figure out how the hell the guy was supposed to be some holy figure of God when he liked to piss her off so much.

"How am I gonna help this kid learn how to be a Slayer, which isn't actually my job, by the way, it's those douches in England's jobs, when she won't even believe that it's possible?" she asked Earl, her tone almost a demand. "And why me? Why not Buffy, how much could she really be doing about now after having a whole summer of literally sleeping like the dead?"

"Something tells me you'll figure it out, and have fun with it too," Earl said mildly, shrugging one shoulder.

He clapped a hand to her upper arm, giving a light squeeze, and started to pull back from Faith, turning around as though intending to walk away. But Faith knew better; Earl much preferred to simply vanish, and she had seconds at best before he got out of her sight.

"Hey!" she called out to him, not caring what others who heard or passed by might think if they happened to see her addressing what would look to them like an empty patch of air. "I mean it, Earl, aren't you gonna give me any clues at all about why it has to be me flying across the country to talk to this chick?"

Earl just barely turned his head back to her, giving her a smile so cryptic in its appearance that it was maddening to her.

"Time will tell," was all he said, before he was gone, just as she had known he would be.


	5. Chapter 5

More than anything in the world she could have imagined or envisioned, Santana wanted to talk to Brittany.

More than talk, she wanted Brittany there, right in front of her, her fingers twined through Santana's, her fingers stroking soothingly through her hair, her lips pressed against her forehead as she assured her with her touch and her presence that she was there for her. That she would always be there for her, no matter what happened, no matter what Santana ever did. She wanted Brittany to lie beside her in the hospital bed, her arms around her, and make Santana forget that she had ever known anything at all but the comfort of her touch, the ever present certainty of her love. She wanted Brittany so badly her heart ached with her need, and thinking about her made her throat ached with unreleased tears.

But she couldn't even bring herself to ask her mother for her cell phone, to see if Brittany had texted or called. She didn't want to see all the other accusing texts or missed calls that would have flooded it, and even worse, she didn't want to scroll through and realize that Brittany had never tried to contact her at all.

Brittany had told her she loved her, time and time again, even when Santana refused to admit in which way she meant, even when Santana wouldn't believe it at all. She told her she loved her more than anyone in the world, and she had looked her in the eyes and said it with such sincerity that Santana couldn't help but know she was genuine. Brittany said she loved her…but what if she had changed her mind now, after what Santana had done?

More than a few times Santana found herself sitting up, preparing to get out of the hospital bed and walk off in search of her mother, or even her father, just to ask for them to give her back her phone, or let her use theirs. Never mind that she was supposed to be staying put; she thought that the doctors were completely overexaggerating her supposed injuries, because she hardly hurt at all, physically, she already felt as though she had just had a particularly punishing Cheerios practice instead of practically at death's door. But every time, she had stopped. Although her mother knew now that she was a lesbian, and had almost certainly pieced together that it was Brittany that she loved, she didn't want to have another conversation about it. She didn't even want her mother to acknowledge it at all. She didn't want to have to show her how deeply it hurt, to even think of the possibility that Brittany hadn't texted or called her at all, and she didn't want to have to fall apart in front of her, if she had, but only to tell her that whatever had been going on between them was over.

Santana had lost so much already in such a short period of time. Her popularity, her reputation, her place in Glee and undoubtedly now the Troubletones, most likely her spot as Cheerios captain, her friendships with the others that she had barely even acknowledged to herself existed in the first place, and although it was difficult to admit to herself, Finn Hudson was a loss too. She had lost her privacy and her dignity of her sexuality, her feeling of security and pride, and now this Faith girl was trying to tell her that she had lost any chance for a normal life as a normal girl, even if Santana was convinced she was completely out of her mind and didn't know what she was talking about….mostly. How could she stand to lose Brittany too, the one thing in her life that she needed now more than ever, the one thing that had ever made her feel as though she could survive the rest of the world and what it would throw her way?

As difficult as it was for her to focus on Brittany, as much as it hurt to think of her and to wonder what the blonde must be thinking and feeling, it was better than to let herself waste time thinking even for a second of Faith and her claims. The girl had told her, more or less, that she was a freak of nature, that she had suddenly developed some kind of super power that was supposed to fight off monsters, and it was obviously because she was crazy, high, or had been watching so many episodes of the X-Files it had warped her brain. Because not for even a second could Santana even entertain the possibility that what she had told her might be true.

Sure, she was strong lately…much stronger than usual. And yeah, okay, maybe she did feel really strange lately. But couldn't being upset or stressed out or angry kind of give people added strength? Hadn't Santana heard of things like that, girls being able to lift up cars because of a rush of adrenaline or something? That had to be what was happening to her…if she told her father about it, he would probably be able to explain it right away. Wouldn't he?

Santana was still thinking hard when her mother re-entered her hospital room, carrying two cups of coffee in her hands. Santana was grateful when she silently lay one at her bedside, indicating without words that it was for her daughter, and then pulled up a chair beside Santana, setting her own cup down as she reached automatically for Santana's hand, her eyes searching hers.

"How are you feeling, mija? Your color is good, are you in any pain?"

"I'm fine, Mami…Mami, I promise I feel okay, I wish you would just sign me out and let me go home," Santana told her, squeezing her mother's hand back with undisguised need.

Normally, she would have rolled her eyes and sighed over dramatically at Maribel's solicitiousness, protesting that she wasn't a baby and didn't' need her mother to be hovering over her. But the truth was that when Santana felt sick or sad, she always wanted someone close to her, showing that they cared and were there for her, and she couldn't resent her mother's presence. If anything, she wanted her mother to stay, reassuring her of all the things that she wanted to hear and knew were mostly untrue.

"Santana, you know that you will not be going home until your father clears you physically to do so," Maribel said softly, stroking her thumb over the back of her daughter's hand. "You are healing very fast, much faster than anyone expected, but he wants you to be monitored for a while longer to make sure you will be all right. And you have to understand, mija, the longer you remain in the hospital under a doctor's care, the easier they will go on you, when they-" she paused, cutting herself off abruptly with a swallow, but Santana saw the shift in her expression and knew immediately what her mother was not saying.

When the police questioned her again. When they accused her again of Finn's death, what they might even see as Finn's murder. It would be to her advantage if Santana was seen as having been badly injured, maybe even mentally confused, to the degree that they could not see what had happened as anything other than a terrible accident.

Maribel had promised that she believed her, that she hadn't meant to do it. But still, the fact that she thought Santana needed extra insurance for this meant that she thought others would not.

Santana sucked in a breath, her eyes filling, and it was in a near whisper that she managed to speak.

"Have you…talked to Brittany?"

"No, carina, I haven't," Maribel told her softly, reaching to cup Santana's cheek gently in her palm. "I've been here, focused on you. And that's where your focus must be too. Brittany, you and she will talk, mija, I am sure. She cares for you very much."

There seemed to be an understanding and knowledge in Maribel's eyes as she spoke, as though she were saying more than her actual words. Santana knew then that she knew, and when another tear spilled out, Maribel wiped it away, squeezing her hand. Another several minutes passed before Santana spoke to her again.

"Mami…there's a commercial. A political commercial, against Coach-"

"I've seen it, Santana," Maribel said quietly, as Santana's heart sank.

"You- you did….and Papi-"

"Papi wants to sue, because you are a minor, and they did not obtain our permission or yours to use your face and reveal your sexuality in such a public manner," Maribel interrupted her, and Santana was startled by the fierceness of her voice, the heat in her eyes as she squeezed Santana's hand again. But it was not her that her mother was mad at; she was angry for her, rather than at her. "And there were some other things stated that are not proven facts, it is considered slander-it will not continue, Santanita. Your father and I, we do not understand everything, but we support you and we love you, and no one will say ugly things about our little girl."

Santana couldn't stop herself from sobbing aloud then, letting herself release the sickening fear that had been suppressed for so long inside her- the fear of just what would happen when her parents knew. But they did know, in the worst possible way for them to see and hear, under circumstances more terrible than she could have imagined, and still her mother spoke up for her, still her father wanted to go to bat for her. Maribel wiped her face, leaning forward to kiss her forehead, and for a time, Faith Lehane and her crazy words didn't exist; even Brittany was forgotten. Her mother still loved her, still wanted her, and still believed that she was not the kind of person the world seemed determined to make her out to be.

It didn't occur to her until after she had started to pull herself together again, letting her mother stroke her hair and arm for several more minutes in silent soothing, that she and her father were not the only ones in her family whose opinion mattered. There was one other person's opinion that Santana did not know, and it was with great dread beginning to cramp up her stomach that Santana asked, "Mami….did…did Abuela see the commercial too? Does she know what happened?"

Santana heard her mother draw in a slow breath, and before Maribel said a word, she knew. Her mother was trying so hard to be so careful, to protect her from hearing what would hurt her to her core, but already Santana knew. When Maribel took her hand, squeezing gently, Santana left hers limp, not returning the gesture.

"Yes, baby."

Maribel didn't elaborate, but she didn't have to. One word was enough for Santana to know all she needed to about Alma Lopez's response. Her father's mother was an old school Puerto Rican, descended from hard work, stern moral character, abundant physical and verbal discipline, and heavy religious beliefs and practice, all of which she had tried to pound into Santana's head from the time she was a small child, frequently being minded by her while her parents worked. Although Santana had often bucked her abuela's intentions and sometimes outright rebelled, she had always loved her, always admired her, and a part of her had always wanted to gain her abuela's approval, to one day be considered to be just like her. Strong, stubborn, independent, and never showing weakness, never showing herself to be anything less than completely firm in her convictions.

That was who her abuela was, and always had been, and that meant that now, hearing that her own granddaughter was not only a lesbian, but also an accidental killer, Alma was no doubt prepared to use her steadfast convictions against her own kin.

"She hates me," Santana stated, trying to keep her words calm, even flat, but even she could hear her voice tremble and shake. She took a deep breath, lifting her chin, but her eyes burned, and she was sure that her mother could see this clearly as she squeezed her hand again, speaking softly.

"She is from another time, Santanita. She is stubborn and she is proud, and she is embarrassed, but it is not your fault. You are who you are, and I would not have you any other way. She will come around, because she loves you and she will miss having you in her life, but if she does not, then she will miss out, and one day she will realize this and be sorry."

"That doesn't help me today or in all the days she won't," Santana pointed out, horrified when she realized that her voice was shaking worse than ever. She sucked in her breath again, trying to steady herself before she was able to ask anything else of her mother.

"She…she doesn't want to see me, does she? Did she say that? I bet she said it a lot more colorfully and loudly than that, and she probably had a lot of Bible quotes to back it up. She thinks I'm terrible, doesn't she? An abomination, is that what she said…a…an unnatural creature, or a sinner, or…"

Santana couldn't bring any more words to her mouth. She had read the Bible herself enough times to know all the terms that her opposers used, to have taken them to heart over and over as a sticking label to herself. She didn't worry about sin and morality and God, as much as she did popularity and reputation and acceptance, but it had been enough of a part of her life for her to know and be upset by it, nevertheless. Even if she didn't believe in being a good girl, she wanted her abuela to think of her as one, and to know now that this would never again be true was upsetting enough that it took all her concentration to focus on holding back tears.

"She loves you, Santana," Maribel told her quietly, stroking her fingertips over the back of her hand. "She does, the best that she can. But you know your abuela. Her love is limited and has rules, and she will one day learn that it is to leave her lonely."

That might be true. But the way Santana felt now, even with her mother's presence and support, she was the one who was lonely, because she was the one who would always be judged as wrong, always abandoned as less than ideal or accepted.

For another few minutes she remained silent, letting her mother attempt to cheer her unsuccessfully, finding little reason to speak or respond. She was so focused on this newest emotional blow that she didn't think to ask her about Brittany, and she had forgotten Faith Lehane and her incredible claims entirely. So when the hospital door opened again, and the face at the doorway revealed not another doctor or nurse checking in, but Faith, cup of coffee matching Maribel's and Santana's in her hand, Santana blinked, startled, and then tensed before speaking up to her rudely.

"You might have said you were coming back, but I didn't agree to it, and this is my room and I control who's allowed in or out. You're not wanted, so go."

Faith rolled her eyes, letting her lips curve into a smirk as she put one hand on her hip and let the other rise up to cover her chest, giving a mock gasp of offense.

"Oh, so rude. I definitely know a kid who needs to retake all the home ec lessons on hospitality I skipped out on, 'cause you need some manners rehab, stat."

"I said to go," Santana repeated, her cheeks reddening, and Faith ignored her, coming forward a few more steps and shutting the door behind her.

"Sorry chica, I told you what the deal is, you had a chance to take it all in and get your pouts out, not my fault if you didn't take advantage of the opportunity. Believe me, I spent a year around Buffy Summers, your pouts do exactly nothing to sway me. Also last I checked, this wasn't your room, this is a room you happened to be occupying that belonged to the hospital or city or whatever. And you're gonna be out of it soon. Soooo let's do some talking here- are you Mrs. Lopez?" she addressed the older woman beside Santana, giving her a much more genuine smile and nod of acknowledgement. "Your daughter, good thing she's got such a hard head, right, it's probably the thing that kept her from getting it bashed all the way in when she had her accident go down."

Maribel Lopez smiled, giving a soft laugh. She seemed to agree with Faith that this was true as she nodded, despite the fact that she of course didn't have any idea of who Faith was, why she was present in the room, and why her daughter was so hostile to her.

"I am, yes, but you can call me Maribel. Are you a nurse, Ms….?"

"Nope, not a nurse, I guess you'd call me sort of a….well you know what, that's actually a really good question, because my job is weird enough that I don't actually know what to call myself without making people want to call the police," Faith mused, her brow furrowing slightly as she considered. "I know what Wes would say, but calling myself a rogue demon hunter makes me sound like a huge ass, not to mention I don't exactly know what a rogue is, other than that chick with white hair. She's pretty hot though….oh, and the calling the police thing? That would be useless, by the way, if Lima is anything like basically every little town I've ever been to, the police are way more concerned with flirting with high school girls and pulling over people missing tail lights then they are with like, holding up the law and protecting people from gory death."

She realized then that she was pretty much babbling, from the mildly curious and amused look on Maribel's face, and the sheer fury on Santana's. Shaking her head ruefully, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, talking to herself more than to either of them.

"Damn, this is what happens when you hang around Cordy too much. You pick up the run on sentences in addition to the snark."

"Can you even hear anyone else's voice but yours?" Santana demanded, raising her own voice up to a loud and rather rude volume. "I said get out!"

"Santana Marie, don't be rude," Maribel said reprovingly, shaking her head at her daughter. Turning her attention back to Faith, she said apologetically, "I am sorry, she is going through a very trying time as of now, my daughter, but it does not excuse her rudeness. Are you a friend of Santana's, perhaps one of the other cheerleaders, or one of the girls from Glee? You Glee kids, you seem to come and go so often I apologize, I have a hard time keeping all of you straight, and Santana is not good about introducing or inviting you girls over. I don't know if she's ashamed of her family or what-"

"I'm ashamed of them, they're all dorky losers," Santana interrupted, and she was starting to get off the bed, her movements jerky in their haste. Faith had a feeling that the girl was getting agitated enough by her presence- or maybe her anxiety over just what Faith might say in front of her mother- that she was going to actually attempt to physically eject her from the room.

"Don't listen to her, she's always so grumpy, this one. Even when she was a little girl, fuss, fuss, fuss," Maribel rolled her eyes, giving Faith another small smile. "I didn't catch your name?"

"Nope, not a friend, not a cheerleader, that's for freakin' certain, and trust me, you don't want to hear me sing," Faith responded, ignoring Santana's steps forward entirely. She stood her ground, arms crossed over her chest, and was not surprised when Santana stopped short, seeming wary of actually touching her, despite her weak effort at intimidation. "I guess you could call me a volunteer, sorta, 'cause I've got a feeling I'm not gonna get paid for this gig."

She stuck her hand out to Maribel to shake, almost touching Santana as she did so, and the younger girl jerked out of her line of reach, glaring at her as though she had tried to force touch.

"I'm Faith. Faith Lehane, but don't bother with the Lehane part, I don't do the Miss thing, it makes me feel like a teacher or a dominatrix or something, and both are sorta equally uncomfortable. At least in this setting. Anyway, what I'm here to do is-"

But Maribel didn't take her hand, and she didn't seem to be listening to a word Faith was saying past her introduction of her name. She blinked several times, her mouth slightly open, her tanned skin seeming to lose a shade of color, and Faith drew her hand back, her own eyes narrowing as she tried to figure out what it was she had said or done that had suddenly changed the woman's demeanor. Santana too seemed confused, losing most of her hostility towards Faith as she focused on her mother with concern.

"Mami…Mami, what? What's wrong?"

Maribel didn't answer her daughter. It was still Faith she was looking at, and her mouth opened and closed as though she were trying to find the words she wanted before she spoke, her voice slow, soft.

"You said…Faith? Faith Lehane?"

Faith frowned too, more than a little confused by her reaction. It wasn't like she was known in freaking Lima, Ohio. Was she?

"Yeah, that's what I said. Why, you know me?"

"Know you…of course, I know you," Maribel said softly.

Her hand drifted up, as if she wanted, or were strongly considering, touching Faith's face, but then she lowered it, seeming reluctant to do so. The woman was still staring at her entirely too intently for Faith's comfort, and she took a step back, almost colliding into Santana, to the girl's obvious huffing displeasure.

"At least…I know you, but…that's who you are, isn't it? The Faith I knew…Pat's daughter?"

And now Faith was the one freezing up, her breath drawing in sharply and not releasing immediately. Because just who the hell was this woman, really, if she knew her father? What the hell had she gotten herself into?

"It's been a long time, but when you said your name, I could still see it in your face…those curls, and those eyes, even the dimples," Maribel was saying, her tone a little faster and much more nervous than it had been when she first spoke with Faith. "It's…you've grown to be a lovely young woman, Faith. I suppose…did he…did Pat see it on the news, or….hear, somehow? About Santana? I didn't even know for sure he would remember her name…"

At this mentioning, Santana's head jerked up, and she swiveled her attention to her mother, her own eyes growing wide. Maribel kept speaking, seeming to be having as difficulty gathering and processing her thoughts as Faith was.

"Did he send you, Faith, or did you just decide to come on your own? He's not…he won't try to make trouble for her, will he, or…say I can't parent her, or…he has to understand, you both do, that Santana is a good girl. She really is. She didn't mean…she would never, not on purpose-"

"Mami," Santana interrupted, going to her mother's side and gripping her arm. It was a mark of Maribel's own shock that she barely flinched from her grip. "Mami, what are you saying…you know her? What are you talking about?"

"I have to say, I don't exactly know what you're talking about either," Faith admitted, but her voice was much stiffer than Santana's, and she found herself looking around the room quickly, half expecting to see Earl standing there.

This had to be one of his stunts, right? He was pulling some kind of trick on her, making this lady think she knew her….but what was she talking about her father for? What the hell was going on, why would he do something that wasn't for his own amusement or to teach her some ridiculous lesson? This didn't make sense!

"He- Pat- he didn't send me," Faith shook her head at Maribel, refusing to refer to him as her father aloud. "I don't even know where the hell he is or where he's been for the past five years or so. But you're…you're saying you KNOW him?"

"I did know him," Maribel said after several moments' pause, still shaking her head slowly side to side, but it seemed more in amazement than denial or disbelief. "And you, of course…but I am not surprised if you do not remember me, you were only three years old, and I only was with you a few times, of course…still, this is quite strange. I…I am sorry, I don't know what to say."

Neither did Faith, because everything she was hearing from this woman's mouth was completely crazy- and it looked like, if Santana's expression was anything to judge by, they were at least both in agreement of this one thing.

"You KNOW her?" Santana blurted, her tone clearly disbelieving, as Faith spoke soon after her, trying to sound tactful even as skepticism colored her own tone. And yet….how the hell had Maribel known her father's name? Then again, with a last name like Lehane, Patrick was probably a pretty common combination with it…right?

"Hey, uh, Maribel, I'm pretty sure you're mistaken here. You couldn't have known me when I was three, because I grew up in Boston, and it's kind of a big distance from here. There's no way I'm the Faith Lehane, daughter of Pat, you knew. Kinda surprised there is another set, but not really, I guess the whole Catholic Irish thing means there's probably a lot of drunks that want to make their kid a saint, make up for their own sins or something."

"I lived in Boston too," Maribel told her quietly, as Faith's stomach flipped, her heart leaping to her throat, though she still wasn't quite sure why. "I grew up there. Right until after Santana was born."

Her eyes flitted to her daughter, who stared at her, this too apparently new information to her.

"You never told me that, Mami. We lived in BOSTON?"

She said the word like a sneer, even curling her lip with seeming disgust as she looked from her mother to Faith, the same dread that Faith was feeling more than evident in her eyes. Wanting to stop this continued strange, discomforting coincidence- because still, Faith wanted to claim coincidence, because how weird would it be otherwise?- Faith shrugged her shoulders at Maribel, exhaling.

"Right, well, that's pretty weird, maybe you did know me or something, pretty crazy, and good memory too. That doesn't matter though. The reason I'm here is to help your daughter out of the mess she's in. See, I'm part of this company back in LA, it's called Angel Inc.-"

"Then…you're not here because….well, you didn't know," Maribel interrupted her, her own eyes growing wide again as she looked from Faith to her daughter and back to Faith again. "I mean…I am sorry…it's just that I assumed…but you do not know? Who I am, and who…well…"

She looked at Santana again, then dropped her voice, as though her daughter could not hear her, despite her newly improved Slayer hearing and the fact that she was only a few feet away. "You really do not know who Santana is to you?"

"What do you mean, WHO I AM TO HER? Mom, I'm NOTHING to her, I don't know her and I don't want to, I've been trying to send her out of here for the past ten minutes!" Santana burst out with, taking on a fairly agitated tone as she turned fully to her mother. "Why are you being so unbelievably weird today?!"

Faith too was stumped, but she didn't speak. She kept her eyes on Maribel, having a feeling that soon, the woman would explain much more than either she or Santana wanted to know. Any woman who knew her father, however long ago and however briefly, had to have one hell of a shady past in some way, and there was no telling what this seemingly proper and normal woman was about to reveal. Swallowing, her fingers restlessly tapping her own arm, Faith waited, eyes on the mother and daughter pair as Maribel focused on her daughter, one hand reaching out to brush her cheek.

"Mija, I never wanted to have this discussion with you in such….stressful circumstances," Maribel said quietly, her hand still cupping Santana's cheek. "I suppose there is not a gentle way to say this. I thought…what I assumed, but it seems there may be some misunderstanding on my part…well, I thought that Faith was coming here to see you, because she is your sister. Because her father is also yours."

As physically dissimilar as they were in appearance, there were nearly identical expressions on both young women's face as they looked at Maribel with no less than astonishment, and the words that they spoke were in unison and in perfectly synchronized intonation.

"WHAT?!"

"You heard me, mija," Maribel said quietly, moving her hand from Santana's cheek to the top of her head. "I suppose it just…it seemed so unlikely that you would ever have a relationship, given how…well, how things turned out, after you were born, and you lived so far apart…and frankly, I didn't want to see him again, or to have him around you. No offense," she raised her eyes to Faith, apologetic for the implied criticism of her father- a criticism that Faith took absolutely no offense to and could have expounded upon in full. "Perhaps that wasn't the right way, but…I didn't want to make you unhappy or worry, mija, and you seemed happy to be the only child. To tell you about a sister you would probably never know would only be confusing and…I'm sorry. I probably did you wrong."

Her gaze returning to Faith, she apologized to her as well. "I am sorry, Faith…I suppose I have made many assumptions, and I wouldn't have dreamed that you did not know. But you were still so young, and…I am sorry. I should not have assumed you would remember, or that this is why you are here, but…why is it again that you ARE here?"

But Faith couldn't concentrate on that question. Her mind was still attempting to deal with the stunner that Maribel Lopez had just thrown her way…that this kid, the one she had come across the country to see, the newest Slayer, who seemed to rather inconveniently hate her guts….this kid wasn't just a sister Slayer. She was her sister.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't a shock that she might have a half sibling around, somewhere. Her parents' relationship had been volatile, and Faith was hardly surprised if her father had been unfaithful- although his being unfaithful with a woman who was as attractive, relatively young, and classy-seeming as Maribel Lopez, even a Maribel of sixteen years ago, seemed fairly incredible. But the fact that she was meeting one of those half siblings, and it just happened to be THIS girl, was definitely something to set her thoughts reeling.

This was definitely no coincidence. Faith had become very accustomed over the years to weird occurrences, whether supernatural in nature or not, and this was one happening that she was certain she could point the finger directly to Earl.

Santana, though, had no such frame of reference, and the only person she could blame was her mother. Maribel got the full focus of her anger and disbelief as she shook her head hard, shoving her mother's hand off of her, her face flushed and intent as she denied her words.

"You're being crazy, Mami. My father is here, right now, today, working somewhere in this damn hospital, and you know it! What, did this girl do something to make you as crazy as she is? Did she breathe her crazy on you, because you KNOW I don't have some other father running around in Boston!"

"No, baby," Maribel said quietly, not reaching to touch Santana, but not looking away either. "You know that isn't true. You know your papi adopted you when you were small. You know that. He loves you like his own, but you know he's not your biological father."

"He is-" Santana said heatedly, but Maribel shook her head, as firm as her daughter now, and her own voice intensified as she contradicted her.

"He isn't, Santana. When you were young, I explained, and again when you were older, and you did not want to hear. You told me I was wrong, and you became so upset that I thought, why not let you believe what you wanted and needed to? You were a stubborn and emotional child, Santana, just as you are a stubborn and emotional young woman now, and I did not want to upset you if this was something you needed to believe. I thought, perhaps when you were older, you would be able to know that your Papi can love you and be your father, and yet not be related to you through blood. I did not hide this from you. You chose not to understand, and I am sorry that you must now with these circumstances, but this is the truth. Faith is your sister, and she is here now, under whatever circumstances, so maybe this is meant to be, God's own will. Family should not be apart, and you girls are family. Maybe this is the exact time that you were meant to have her in your life."

For Faith, this was the last straw. She heard quite enough from Earl, whenever he decided to pop up, about God's will and meant to be and all that mess. To hear it from this woman, who'd apparently not only had sex with her father but actually produced a kid out of it, repeating the exact same kind of thing Earl said that drove her the most insane…well, it was entirely too much for one thirty minute encounter. She was here to help out a Slayer, not to discover long lost family members she hadn't known existed in the first place. Her family was best left untouched and ignored, in all possible ways, and Faith acted on impulse, heading towards the door.

"Look, it's obvious you two got some shit to hash out, and I'm also obviously not wanted here. Nor do I want to be here at this point so…let me help you out and get out of here."

"Faith, no, you don't have to leave-" Maribel started, but Faith kept going, letting the door shut behind her at just under the volume of a slam.

As she strode down the hospital's hall, she realized that her hands were shaking, and she clinched her jaw, lifting her chin in an effort to maintain her composure. Not even she could articulate why it was that this revelation shook her up so much. An hour earlier, if anyone had asked Faith if she would be surprised to find out she had a younger sister somewhere in the universe, she would have said no with the casualness and unconcern of someone who didn't know, but also didn't much care, whether this was the truth. But to now stand face to face, literally, with the fact that this was not only true, but her sister was the one she had been sent across the country to help…well, this made it entirely too real to be able to fully process.

She didn't' know where she intended to go; she only knew that she wanted to get the hell away from Santana and her mother, that she needed to be able to catch her breath and try to think through what had just happened. As it was, she didn't get very far. She had barely stepped into the elevator at the hall's end and let the doors shut behind her before she heard a deep and annoyingly familiar voice, though when she had entered the elevator, she had been inside it alone.

"Another thing you and Miss Lopez here got in common. You both want to put up your fists and fight or pick up your feet and flee, every time things get a little uncomfortable with emotions. All this time and you still don't like to talk things through."

"Oh, I've got a hell of a lot to say, don't you doubt that," Faith almost snarled, turning fast on her heels to face Earl and jabbing her finger just inches from his face. "What the fuck, Earl, I get that you probably intend to teach me another huge God lesson and get me closer to my angel wings or what the hell ever, but come on, you couldn't give me one single heads up, not one word of warning that oh, this kid is my fucking SISTER?!"

"Seems like Maribel covered the explanation pretty well, saved me some time," Earl said calmly, even amused. "Let me ask you something, Faith. Why would that make a difference to know before, instead of after? 'Cause then you might have chosen to refuse to come on out here, would that be why?"

Faith's mouth opened, then closed, and she scowled towards him with as much ferocity as she could muster. It was times like this she hated that she couldn't actually hurt him if he hit, with his stupid angel powers protecting him, because she dearly would have loved to slug the hell out of him.

But he had a point. Without her even being able to put it into words until Earl said it for her, that was exactly why she was so put out now. Because if she had known that Santana was her sister, she would have almost certainly found a way to keep from coming at all.

She didn't say this, though. She hated when Earl was right, and she wasn't about to say it out loud to him, when she could help it. Instead she just scowled, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and shifting her weight, and changed the subject entirely.

"Is this elevator seriously not moving? Did you freeze it just so we could have this little heart to heart?"

"Your family has caused you pain," Earl said quietly, keeping his eyes on Faith's without allowing her to squirm out of having to face the subject. "They weren't there for you in the ways they should have been, and they didn't have your back and keep you safe. Your mama ain't around to make amends with anymore, and your father, well, let's just say that he's gotta deal with a lot more than you ever did before he's ready to face up to what he's done to you too. You've made a family of your own that's there for you, but now you got to face up to the fact that you still got family out there that belongs to you. Family you've got a responsibility towards. You can't wish away knowing Santana's existence now that you've met and you know. Your family has hurt you, but Santana, she don't even know you yet. She ain't your mother, she ain't your father, she's your sister, by blood in addition to the Slayer part there. She's your sister, and you might want to forget that and walk away, but you can't forget that she's also a teenaged brand new Slayer who needs your help. That's what you're here for. The sister part- that's important too, but don't forget the reason you came here to start with."

Why did he have to give her lectures of logic, when all Faith wanted was to feel completely in the right about storming out of the hospital and never looking back? He had tricked her, in her eyes, and yet she couldn't exactly put a finger on how.

He was right about one thing, though. Between Doyle's vision, the Powers that Be, and Earl himself, it was probably pretty likely that Faith wasn't going to be able to take twenty steps away from Santana before someone or something would launch her right back to her. If this was her stupid fate to do this stupid mission, she probably really didn't have much of a choice in the matter, no matter what she thought about it.

"She doesn't want my help, Earl, and she doesn't want to be my family or my sister or anything to do with me at all either," Faith shot back with the one thing she could grasp as an absolutely truth. "How the hell am I supposed to just take over her life with her kicking and screaming all the way?"

"I don't know, seems to have worked out all right with another girl I know," Earl smirked, looking Faith dead on, and Faith had to concede this point somewhat begrudgingly.

"Okay, well, unfortunately the only supernatural powers I have are pretty much exactly even with hers. I mean, I obviously can totally kick her ass, but something tells me that's not gonna have the helpful bonding results you're wanting me to have."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure about it, seems to be a pretty big adrenaline release for you Slayer girls to get physical with each other sometimes," Earl said mildly, but Faith swore she saw a little smirk quirk his lips. Was Earl actually making innuendo? It never failed to amaze her that an angel could possibly make a sex joke, but then, it was equally weird to see an angel drinking Mountain Dew while wearing flannel.

"You never wanted my help, Faith, still don't most of the time. But it tends to work out where you get it anyway. I think you're gonna figure this one out without needing too much of my help at all."

"Why can't you just take her on like you took me, that's your job!" Faith threw out her arms, exasperated. "Look, she might be my sister, but all that means is she's got the family crazy genes too, and there's no telling how it's gonna bite me in the ass. She's rude, she's stubborn, she denies the completely obvious because of her ridiculous pride, she's a friggin' pain in the ass, and she obviously doesn't want anything to do with me-"

"Again, kinda sounds like someone I used to know," Earl cut in calmly, looking Faith over with a raised eyebrow. "I know you, Faith. If I told you why her, why now, you wouldn't learn a thing, 'cause the minute you're told something, you ignore it and go your own way. You learn from doing, and that's what you're gonna do now- do this. She's a teenager, Faith. Just like you were, not so very long ago at all. She's a teenager, she's your sister, and she needs your help. Doesn't matter if she wants it or wants it from you. She needs it, and you're gonna give it. Not because I'm telling you to, but because that's the kind of person you are now. If you think about it, you'll realize that too."

He didn't give her time to start showing off fingers or certain four letter word retorts, both which Faith was more than ready to do. Instead, he simply was there one moment, then the next, the elevator was empty again, moving upward as though he had never been there in the first place. As Faith sucked in a breath, trying to control the surge of anger that flared through her, she found herself fumbling for her phone on impulse, ignoring the fact that they were not allowed in hospitals. As the elevator doors opened and she walked towards the lobby, she already had the phone to her ear, speaking as soon as she heard the familiar voice.

"Yeah, Cor? So the baby gay, Slayer junior you were worried would seduce me with her pom-pom, ponytailed ways? Yeah, your worries are over, 'cause it turns out she's actually my sister…no, of course I'm serious, but you can snapchat a pic of your expression right now if you think it might cheer me up…"

88

Santana's hands couldn't seem to stop shaking, and when she tried to stop them, clutching onto the hospital bed railing, as it was the closest thing to where she stood, she broke off another bar, as she had earlier with Faith. Of course, this did nothing to decrease her agitation. She wanted to scream, to cry, to throw a tantrum like a three year old and start kicking the walls and lashing out with her fists. But she didn't know who it was that she wanted to hit, because when it came down to it, the only person she could blame in this mess was herself.

She couldn't blame Faith; apparently the girl was as stunned as she was by Maribel's revelation, and seemed no less eager to be related to Santana than Santana was to be related to her. She couldn't blame Maribel, as much as she wanted to; her mother was correct when she said that Santana had never wanted to hear her talk about her biological father, to the extent that Santana had almost entirely convinced herself that he didn't exist. There was no one else but her own adoptive father, and of course, her father's mother and her mother's mother, who probably knew, and it was possible that they too didn't even know about Faith's existence. Her own stubbornness was the main reason that this was entirely new information to her.

But it was Maribel who was standing in front of her, Maribel who had just blown apart one more thing that had made up the foundation of her life, and so it was Maribel that Santana aimed her anger towards.

"How could you do this to me?" she demanded, every muscle in her body taut as she rounded on her mother. "So you just lie to me, my entire life? You just let me go around believing I'm an only child when you have some other kid out there?! How the hell do you go sixteen years without mentioning you have another kid?! What, you just move away and forgot her, like she was a damn purse or something?!"

"Santana, no, you misunderstand," Maribel shook her head immediately, trying to temper her daughter's fury. "Faith is not my child. You are my only child, only you. You share only a father with Faith. Faith's father is your father too. That is what I am telling you."

"And you couldn't find a time or a place to say that? Sixteen years go by and you were, what, too damn busy to happen to mention that somewhere out there, I have another dad? That he's got another kid, maybe a whole slew of them? How many half siblings do I have out there, Mami? One, two, three, ten? How do I know that my other DAD isn't the man slut of Boston?"

"Santana, I cannot answer that question, because I do not know," Maribel said quietly, taking a breath. "I have not spoken to your biological father since you were only just born. I did not wish to speak to him again, unless you, when you were old enough to decide, chose to. I do not know how many other children he may have, or what his life may be like, or even if he is still alive. Those are all questions you would have to ask of Faith, because she is the only sister that I know for sure you have."

"I don't want to talk to Faith," Santana spat out, shaking her head. "I don't even want to know her, let alone be related to her. She's absolutely insane, you know she came in here and pretty much told me I'm a freak? She called me a Slayer, mami, a Slayer!"

Her voice cracked, and she had to swallow hard and lift her chin harder, trying to settle herself again. Because even as she said that word, the word she hated the sound of so much, even as she scoffed and denied that anything the other girl had said could be even remotely possible, a part of her wondered. Because if Faith was indeed wrong, then how could she explain what was happening to her?

"Santana," Maribel said quietly, making no move towards her daughter. Perhaps she knew that it would not have been in her best interest then to touch her. "Santana, I would not have deliberately kept this information from you. But you so did not wish to hear about another father, it seemed to make you so distressed and angry to hear about it, that I thought perhaps it would be best if we left it well enough alone. You had your papi here, and he loves you and takes care of you, even if he is not always around or very verbal in showing it. I thought if you did not even wish to acknowledge another father, then the same would be true of a sister. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I should have sat you down and forced you to hear, but if I was wrong, it was not out of any sort of desire for myself, but for you. I am sorry, mija, but these are the facts. Your sister is here now, for whatever reason, and maybe it is for the best now. You will need every bit of family, every bit of support you can possibly accept, Santana, and it is not within your best interest to push it away."

This was true; Santana knew that it was. If it was really possible that Faith could help her, like she claimed, then she should be open to accepting it, even if she hated doing so. She didn't have a lot of people offering at the moment.

With a loud sigh, Santana's shoulders slumped forward, her head temporarily bowing, and she bit the inside of her cheeks, forcing back sudden tears stinging her eyes before she could look up again at her mother.

"How did it happen. How did you go from living in Boston and…hooking up or whatever you were doing with one guy, to moving to Ohio and getting with Papi?"

Maribel sighed too, but didn't look away. Slowly she sat down, seeming to have lost energy by the very question, before she responded.

"I spent my first year of college in Boston. I was eighteen years old, Santanita, I was young and I was inexperienced, and I was not the best with making decisions. I did not study as much as I should have and I partied more than I should have, and when I met a man who was charming in a way, I let myself become involved without the wariness I should have had. Pat- your and Faith's biological father- was very charming, and I let myself become involved. I did not know at first that he was married and had a child, but he told me that he and his wife were having problems and he would leave her, except for his concern for his daughter. Faith was only three years old when I met her, and it was only one a few occasions, when he told me that his wife was working or had simply left the house. I thought her a neglectful mother and perhaps she was, I do not know. I justified what I was doing, but it was wrong, I know that."

Santana struggled to picture what her mother was saying to her. It was difficult to think of her mother as a homewrecker, Faith as a young child whose father cheated and whose mother was possibly neglectful. She pressed her lips together into a line, shaking her head slightly, before asking with some strain, "So what, you left school then, or…?"

"Yes, but not until you were nearly due, " Maribel explained, sighing. "It was my plan to stay in Boston, if Pat wanted to be a part of your life, in whatever way. I gave him time to think it over, plenty of time. My entire pregnancy." There was a bitter note to her voice, and she shook her head before continuing. "He chose not to. In fact, he as good as called me a liar, doubted my word as to whether you were his. And he was drinking heavily, and sometimes I wondered just what else he might be involved with…I do not know, Santanita, but I did know that he would not care for you as he should, and you deserved a better father. So I went back to Ohio to be with my own family, and as you know, your abuela cared for you a good deal while you were small, so I could work to support you and try to go back to school. I met your papi when you were two years old, and we married the following year. He adopted you, Santanita. I did not put your father's name on the birth certificate, because he did not acknowledge his connection to you, so we did not have to obtain his permission. Your papi is your father and always will be. What I am telling you does not change that. He is just not the person who helped create you."

It was a lot for Santana to take in, almost too much. What her mother was telling her seemed to change everything, and yet she was looking at her with all earnestness telling her that nothing had changed. Santana shook her head, slowly at first, then more vehemently, denying her words.

"Right, Mami, nothing has changed. What about my sister here now? I think that's a pretty damn big change. I just…no. I can't deal with this right now. I can't. I just…Mami, get out of here. Please, please just…please just go, please just leave me alone now."

"Santana," Maribel said softly, reaching for her daughter's hand, but Santana shook her head harder, backing out of her reach.

"No. No, Mami, go. Just go…please just go."

Maribel turned towards the door, but she cast a sad look back at her daughter, catching her gaze.

"I'll be back soon, mija. I'll give you time, but I want you to know that as bad as this must feel, my love and your papi's love for you will never change."

But how could Santana believe this, knowing that her father was not her father at all? No wonder he was so disturbed by her…no wonder he had barely spent time with her since what had happened, or throughout all of her childhood. She wasn't his child. He didn't have to take responsibility for her, he didn't even have to keep loving her, if he didn't want to. She had turned out in a way that no man would want to take responsibility for if he didn't have to. Who would want to claim a killer for a daughter?

What if her father never wanted to see her again? Why would he, after what she had done, when she wasn't even his real child? And her biological father, whoever the hell he was, out there…why had he not wanted her? Why had he been there as a father for Faith, but not for her? What about her had been so terrible even as a baby that he had known he didn't want anything to do with her? Had he somehow already known when she was born, or even before, that she would be a freak?

Another thought came to her then, straight from the tongue clucking judgment of her very religious abuela. Her abuela no doubt would abandon her now, not only for being a murderer, but also for being a lesbian, a sin that in her mind was probably even worse. And if her abuela knew that she was a child born of wedlock, from her mother and a married man…no wonder she had always preached sin at her, knowing she was a child born from sin. What if the reason that Santana had had all of this happen came about because of the way she was born and conceived?

Logically she knew that it was a ridiculous thought; there were millions of people born out of wedlock, and they didn't all turn out to be killer or lesbians – Slayers, the word Faith had used leapt unwanted into Santana's mind. It couldn't be the reason, and yet Santana couldn't' shake the thought that it may be.

It seemed that everything in her world had gone wrong; nothing she did would make things better or okay, and nothing that anyone had said to her today was anything she could accept. Overwhelmed with her own thoughts and emotions, Santana buried her face in her pillow, stifling her tears.

88

Santana didn't realize she had drifted into sleep until she became vaguely aware of a hand, gently stroking through her hair. She kept her eyes closed, murmuring a slurred protest, as she assumed that the hand was her mother's. But when she heard a familiar soft voice whisper back to her to go back to sleep, Santana's eyes popped open, and she rolled over with ill coordination, blinking in shocked reaction. As she stared, mouth slightly open, at Brittany's face, drinking her in with a near desperate hope, Brittany gave her a small smile, then slowly reached out one hand, pinkie finger curled as though in offer to join with Santana's.

At this familiar and obviously forgiving gestures, Santana's breath caught, and before she even knew it was a possibility, she was breaking down into tears again, sobbing with such pained, jagged intakes of breath that her chest heaved, and she couldn't seem to keep her body upright. She doubled over, weeping as she began to sputter out apologies, intended not just for Brittany but for Finn, for her mother and her father, maybe both of them, for everyone that it seemed to her she had failed. She sobbed, and when Brittany stroked her hands again through her hair, placing small kisses to her head as she stood to draw closer, Santana's sobbing became near wails. It was too much, to be treated with such gentleness, with such compassion, as though nothing had changed between them. It was too much to be comforted by Brittany, and yet she had wanted and needed and hoped for it with such fervor that now that she was receiving it, she couldn't seem to tolerate it at all.

"I didn't mean to," she managed to gasp out, unable to lift her face from her knees as Brittany's hands ran over her arms. "I d-didn't mean to…I didn't…"

"I know," the other girl said softly, and again her head, her forehead, what she could reach of her cheek was kissed and caressed. "I know."

Eventually when Santana's tears did not slow, Brittany climbed up into the hospital bed beside her and took her into her arms, holding the smaller girl with her back against her chest, mostly in her lap. She held her, stroking her arms and kissing her head, until Santana's emotions had driven her into a state of soggy exhaustion, and she found herself sagging back against her, unable to keep her eyes open a moment longer. She was pretty sure she could hear Brittany whisper something in her ear, but she didn't remember what it was when she awoke some time later, to find herself alone in her bed and in the room. At first she wasn't sure if Brittany had ever been there at all or if it had all been some very vivid dream, but then she saw the small, glittery cat sticker pressed to one of the remaining posts on her bed, and she smiled.

Out of everyone in her school, she still had Brittany on her side.


	7. Chapter 7

Faith had had her share of awkward meetings and conversations in her life, but this one, located in the living room of the Lopez family, with her, Maribel Lopez, and Santana each sitting separately from each other in a different chair, definitely was a top contender.

It was obvious to her that Santana's accustomed lifestyle was considerably different than her own had been at age sixteen. The girl's house was clearly nice, expensive, and located in what was obviously a "good" neighborhood in her hometown. There would be no drug dealing, no gangs or hookers on this street corner, and it was probably considered a capital offense if you didn't regularly mow your lawn. The interior was spacious, tastefully decorated, and clean, and although Santana hadn't invited her to view her bedroom, Faith could only guess that the girl probably had every amenity a teenager girl could want. Her upbringing reminded Faith rather more of Cordelia's than her own; at sixteen, Faith had been living in a sleazy motel room, barely scraping by with vending machine meals.

Santana had been released from the hospital earlier the previous evening; before her release, because she was again being difficult about speaking with Faith, Maribel had caught up to Faith, inviting her to come the next morning to their home for a discussion. Faith had agreed, though she was uncomfortable at the easily affectionate way that Maribel touched her shoulder, and she had spent the rest of the evening fighting her urge to go into a local bar and lose herself in shooting pool, getting guys and girls to buy her drinks, and starting fights with whoever it was that challenged her. Instead, she had checked out the local cemeteries, getting a head start on the slaying that she would eventually have to show Santana how to do, and then checked into a hotel room, calling Cordelia again before attempting to sleep. She hadn't had much of that; between her revved up status from the slaying, her continued thoughts of Santana's familial status and her stubborn refusal to listen to what Faith had to say, she was rather preoccupied. Morning seemed to come all too soon, and with it, the conversations that no one seemed eager to have.

Santana had sat with scowling, ill concealed irritation through her mother's explanation to Faith of her previous relationship with her father and how this connected Santana to Faith. Her glower had only intensified as Faith then explained, for the first time to Maribel and for the second time to Santana, her purpose for coming to Santana and Santana's new status as a Slayer. Afterwards, both of the older women sat in silence, digesting their new understanding, and for a time, neither could think of what to say. It was Santana who broke the silence.

"Right, so you're my sister and I'm a Slayer. Thanks for the info, thing is, I don't want to be, even if it's actually true, which I doubt, and you're not a total psycho. So you can take it back and give it to someone else, or I'll just not do the Slayer stuff, I'll try NOT killing creepy dead things and just return to my normal life. Saves work for you and sounds much better to me."

"Yeah, I wish it worked like that, kiddo, kinda isn't your choice though," Faith shrugged. "I mean, sure, you can say you aren't gonna slay, thing is, you can't just get rid of your powers. If you don't learn to use them right and control them, then that thing that happened with the Hudson kid? It's gonna happen again, and next time your parents and the Council and Angel Inc. probably are gonna be able to make it go away for you so easily. Not to mention, you might not want to go out looking for the creepy dead things, but they are gonna come looking for you, and if you don't know how to fight them, you're gonna become one of them. Trust me, you're gonna want to fight, even if you don't want to be a Slayer. Sorry, kinda sucks for you, but this is your life now, so you might as well get used to it fast."

"This is NOT my life!" Santana exploded, getting to her feet in a near leap and gesturing fiercely with her arms. "This is not my life! This is something that just got forced on me, this is not what I picked, this is not what I wanted, this is NOT going to be what I do with my life! I'm a cheerleader, I'm a dancer and a singer and an actress, I'm going to college, I'm going to be famous, I'm not going to be a damn monster killer!"

"Hey, not saying you can't try for those things too," Faith shrugged again, exhaling. "Buffy goes to college. Or she did for a little bit anyway, before the whole dead thing went down. You can be whatever you want, if you can juggle it. But you gotta be a Slayer too."

"Oh yeah? I don't have to be anything. I quit!" Santana declared, as Faith laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, you think? Good luck on that, kid. Buffy's tried to quit like, ten times, and she's still hanging out in cemeteries on the regular. I ran all the way to LA to try to quit and I'm still going too. You might try to quit being a Slayer, but being a Slayer won't quit you, 'cause it's in your blood now. Literally…since apparently we both share it." Faith tilted her head, a new consideration coming to her. "Hey, if one of us died, I wonder if Buffy's little sis would be the next Slayer called? Higher genetic chance or something?"

"You don't know me, you don't know what I will or won't do, and I'm telling you, I quit!" Santana said heatedly, but Maribel raised a hand, shushing her.

"Wait, wait just a minute, Santanita. Stop a moment, and think. I know this is a shock to you, but it is also exciting, don't you think? You have been chosen, you, over everyone, every other girl in the world. This is special, Santanita…you are special! What does that same about you, that you were chosen over all the other possibilities of every other girl that could have been chosen instead?"

"It says that my life is a damn joke and I'm jinxed, and my genetics suck too," Santana said darkly, shaking her head as her eyes rolled to the ceiling. "If you think it's so exciting and special, Mami, why don't you do it instead? I don't want it, how many times do I have to say that for you two to hear?"

"You need to listen to her, Santana," Maribel reproved, her voice growing stern. "You heard what she has said. She will make sure you stay alive. She will make you stronger, and she will teach you what you need to know, whether you want to know it or not, it is now necessary that you do. This is not like refusing a certain brand of clothing or joining a club at school. This is your life and your body that we are discussing here, and you do not get to choose. Not to mention, Santana, she is your sister. It is about time that you two met and began to form a relationship of sorts, and her return to your life at this time, when you need someone the most, well, it is fortunate, whatever you may disagree, and if you ask me, it is likely an act of God himself to bring you together in this way. For both of you to be special in this way, for your sister to be the only person who can help you exactly how you need? It is his will, Santana, and you will do it. That is not an option."

It just figured, Santana thought to herself, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes, that Maribel too was into the whole God scene. Between Earl and her mother, maybe they were right; maybe Santana didn't stand a chance with the stubborn stance.

"How long are you planning on staying to help Santana, Faith?" Maribel was asking, turning to Faith and touching her shoulder lightly. The woman seemed to kind of thoughtlessly touchy in that way, but Faith didn't mind it. At least it seemed to be genuine gestures rather than some kind of act.

"Didn't really have a time period in mind," Faith shrugged, even as thought to herself that her preference was getting out of dodge ASAP. "As long as it takes to teach her and as fast as she decides she's actually gonna learn, I guess."

"Where are you staying?" was Maribel's next question, her eyes bright with apparent interest at her reply. It was a little odd to Faith; it was rare for an adult to show her such seemingly genuine interest and respect, and so she shrugged again, though she didn't pull back from her continued touch.

"Hotel, that's where I checked in at. Gonna have to renew it day by day, I guess."

"Oh no, that has to get expensive, even if your company is paying for it, hotels are so impersonal. I don't know that I've ever slept well at one, and not just because I rarely go to one alone," Maribel proclaimed emphatically, shaking her head, even as Faith blinked at her, wondering if she was deliberately making innuendo. "No, it's much better to stay in an actual home, and our home certainly has the room for you. Of course you are invited to stay here with us, it will make it so much more convenient for you and so much cheaper as well."

Right…basically the worst idea Faith could think of, as far as what she wanted to do. Being stuck in this rich person's house, with their rich person stuff, with this kid who couldn't look at her without scowling, unable to get a breather from her even when she wanted to? With this nice and well-meaning woman who nevertheless was kind of suffocating her with her questions and enthusiasm and whose judgment was more than a little questionable, seeing as she had once slept with Faith's father? Having to explain to Santana's adoptive father her presence in his house and just how it was that she and Santana were connected? Awkward and ten thousand shades of no. But how was she supposed to extract herself from the invitation in a way that made it seem like she wasn't a total bitch?

And when exactly was it that she had started to care whether she was thought of as a bitch anyway?

"Um, thanks, that's really cool of you, but I've got a place, so it's all good," Faith tried, but she had barely finished the words before Maribel was shaking her head, her hand still resting lightly on her shoulder.

"Oh, no, Faith, I insist. We have room, you will not have to pay the overinflated prices for those rundown things Lima calls hotels, and you and Santana, whatever she is saying to the contrary, really do need this time to get to know each other."

"Seriously, um, that's really nice of you, but-" Faith tried, but even as she shifted her gaze towards Santana, she realized, to more irritation than surprise, that Earl was now standing just behind her, eyebrows raised, arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her. He didn't speak a word, but the look on his face said plenty about what he thought of the offer Maribel was making and Faith's attempts to refuse it, and Faith knew without even trying to buck him and what he obviously wanted her to do that she didn't want whatever it was he was going to do to screw with her if she kept resisting.

Faith heaved a sigh, addressing Earl rather than the other two humans present.

"Let me guess. I don't have a choice with this, do I?"

Earl shook his head, a trace of a smile on his lips. But Maribel, unaware of his presence, interpreted her words as directed as her and hastened to reassure.

"Oh, of course it is your choice, Faith, I do not have control of you and you are a grown woman, of course. But it does appear reasonable for all concerned, and if it was up to me, you would. You wait and see, it will help. Already you girls act like sisters, and not in the best meaning of the word. That should and must be overcome if you are to be of help with Faith's situation, and time together is the best way."

So it was settled, at least in Earl's and Maribel's minds, and Faith was somewhat resigned to it too. As she finally nodded, Santana sighed considerably more dramatically than Faith had, turning an irritated stare in her mother's direction.

"Mami…why are you doing this."

"For you, Santanita. For you," was Maribel's reply, much to her daughter's teeth gritting irritation. "Now, why don't you show Faith to the guest room and make sure that whatever she needs that she does not have, we can provide for her?"

Although it was voiced as a request, her expression indicated that it was not. It took almost a full minute, but eventually Santana half stomped towards the hallway, not looking to see whether Faith was following her or not. Faith looked towards where Earl had been standing, but he was already gone, apparently his influence having already completed his will and no longer requiring his presence. Already counting the seconds until she could skype Cordelia again, Faith followed after the girl. At least the bed here was bound to be more comfortable than whatever any hotel had to offer.


	8. Chapter 8

Santana had honestly thought that she wanted to be alone. For most of the day, she had felt smothered, surrounded by too many people at all times, everywhere she was and no matter how strongly she suggested they leave her be. All of them professed concern for her well being, of course, and all of them seemed to know exactly what was best for her, whether that be the officials at the hospital, Faith in her own damn house, or her mother, every friggin' place she happened to be. And maybe they were right. As much as she hated to admit it, Santana couldn't think of anything else but Faith's explanation for what was going on in her life, and she couldn't think of any way to get around her staying in her house. But god, did she have to admit that and accept it all at once?

She thought she wanted everyone to shut up and leave her be, give her time to process all the confusing, strange things she had experienced and been informed of in the past few days. But the longer she sat alone in her room, the more restless and keyed up she grew. Despite being an only child, or maybe because of it, Santana had never been good with being to herself. it gave her too much time to think, too much time to let herself start to feel and worry about things she didn't want to, and before she could quite think it through she found herself jumping up, her cell phone in her hand as she pecked out a text quickly to Brittany.

Going out. Can't take car, Mami is all stalk mode. Gonna walk, meet me two blocks past my place, corner of Aldridge & Iverson?

She got Brittany's responding text a few minutes later, indecipherable and full of emoticons as usual, but Santana knew her well enough to get the gist of it- Brittany was on her way. Only with this knowledge could Santana finally let herself start to relax.

She didn't waste much time getting herself together to go. Stuffing her cell phone into her jeans pocket, Santana ran a hand through her hair, then slid open the window to her room, glad that it was on the first floor and therefore didn't require much effort to jump out of. Without so much as a glance backwards to check if her mother or Faith happened to be spying, she took off down the sidewalk, head held high, hands stuffed in her pockets as she walked.

It seemed forever to her since she had seen Brittany face to face. Sure, Brittany had visited her briefly in the hospital- she was pretty sure she had, that she hadn't imagined Brittany's hand in hair, stroking the tears off her cheeks- but she had been so out of it at the time that it hardly seemed real. She wanted and needed to see her in full, aware reality, to feel her arms around her and hear her voice, because with Brittany, she could always manage to block out the rest of her world. Brittany had a magic in her that was far better than anything Faith could claim Santana herself had, and it was Brittany's magic that Santana needed then.

Coming to a stop at the street corner she had specified, Santana rocked back and forth impatiently on her heels, rolling her eyes to the darkened night sky. It was true that Brittany lived a little bit further away from it than she did, but still, the girl should be here by now. But Brittany was Brittany. It was not just possible but likely that she had been distracted by her obese cat's many implausible capers, or even that she had gotten lost on her way to a street that she should have known like her own face in the mirror by now. Brittany was nothing if not different, in a way that others labeled as stupid but that Santana simply regarded as extraordinary.

She heaved her breath out, getting out her phone and preparing to call or text to check on her, but then she could see the blonde's figure in the distance, coming towards her. Almost immediately Santana's face broke out into a smile, and she realized then that a part of her had feared that Brittany would not really come. Dropping her former irritation, she almost flew forward, crushing Brittany into a hug so fierce that Brittany's eyes bulged, and she gasped with pain before Santana, horrified, let go, backing up.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean- I just wanted- shit, did I hurt you? Damn it!"

"No, I'm okay. It's just super weird that my teeny tiny Tana is so super strong now," Brittany assured her, cocking her head to the side as she regarded her with undisguised curiosity. "Did you accidentally drink one of the football player's drinks instead of our cheering shakes, because I bet they totally put steroids in there. If you start getting big guy veins and man boobs, we'll know what happened."

"Eww! Britt, please don't give me one more thing to have nightmares over," Santana shuddered, even as she couldn't help but smile. How could she not, when Brittany was still calling her hers? When Brittany was still looking at her with affection, when her arm was still wrapped around Santana's shoulders so gently, like Santana was still less strong and more delicate than she was?

"Totally not hot," Brittany agreed, seemingly serious. "Your girl boobs are way better."

She kept her arm around Santana's shoulders, meeting her eyes more seriously as she spoke to her. "People said you were going to jail. Did you break out?"

Santana tensed immediately, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shook her head hard, cursing the "people" who were saying this even as she replied tightly.

"No. No, I'm not. I'm not going to jail, I'm not going anywhere."

"That's what I said," Brittany agreed, nodding. "I don't like that you slapped Finn, Santana. I don't, you know I don't like violence and bullying, and that's bullying him even if he bullied you first. I really don't like what he did to you either, you know that. But you can't help it if Finn's super, super weak compared to you. That's not your fault. That's like, Finn's super bad genetics' fault."

Brittany was very serious in saying this, and as funny as it was in a way, Santana couldn't muster up a smile. She shrugged one shoulder, exhaling, and burrowed herself further under her arm.

"What are they saying about me?" she asked softly, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be. "At school. Are they…"

She trailed off, not even sure what it was she wanted to ask. She didn't want to know, didn't want to feel hurt and helpless against their words and assumptions. And yet she had to know. Did they all hate her? Did they all blame her, look at her like a ruthless killer instead of just the shallow, sometimes cruel bitch most assumed her to be? Did anyone feel bad for her, was anyone willing to hear her side?

Brittany sighed softly, even as she ran a soothing hand over Santana's arm.

"Some people talk about you," she admitted softly, leaning her head against Santana's. "They say that you killed him, and you're paying for people to cover it up. Some people are just confused. Tina cries all the time, and Puck won't go to class. Rachel, well, she's sort of pathetic but I guess that's nothing new. But Quinn…she's sticking up for you, Santana. She knows it wasn't something you meant. Quinn and Mercedes and me, Troubletones, we all have your back."

Listening to this, Santana swallowed, feeling her eyes tear up. She was emotional in spite of her fierce wish not to be, and for Brittany not to notice if she was. But of course, Brittany did. Despite her many quirks, Brittany was nothing if not attentive to Santana's emotional state, even if she didn't notice things more clearly obvious to people, such as the difference between a duvet and a duck.

Brittany's fingers stroked through Santana's hair, and she kissed her forehead with tender attention.

"We miss you, San," she said softly, still keeping her fingers in Santana's hair. "We want you back. When will you do that for us?"

Santana shook her head, swallowing again, and willed her voice not to shake as she replied.

"I don't know that I am. It's probably better if I don't."

"You have to," Brittany insisted. She pulled slightly away, taking Santana's chin in her hand so the girl had to look at her as she spoke. "You have to, San. It was an accident."

"They don't think so," Santana told her bitterly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Not most people."

"And do they really matter?" Brittany challenged, and Santana dropped her eyes, not responding. She knew that Brittany wanted her to say that no, they didn't. And it was probably even true. Brittany was the person who mattered most. But that didn't mean she didn't care, and Brittany echoed this thought aloud.

"They don't. But you still care. You always do."

Again, Santana couldn't respond to that. Brittany was right. With the things that mattered, she almost always was. She did care. She cared so much that her body ached with the weight of it, and as her head bowed forward in silent acknowledgment, Brittany cupped her face in her hands, forcing Santana to look up into her eyes.

"I love you," she said quietly. "I know you, Santana, and I know that you're super sweet and awesome and how strong you are inside, and how that's all that really matters. I know that even when you don't." She paused, tilting her head, before concluding, "I guess now your strong outsides just match up with your strong insides. It's kind of awesome. I guess that means I can't be top anymore…oh well, that's kind of hot."

Santana couldn't help but laugh at that. It was so Brittany, for this to be her line of thought, that she couldn't help then but to feel a rush of affection and love for her. She hugged her, gently at first, then more tightly, careful to avoid crushing anything breakable with her newly strengthened grip.

Tilting her face up towards the taller girl's, Santana kissed her, gently at first, tentative, then more firmly, wanting and needing to feel the girl against her own flesh. As Brittany kissed her back, her fingers twining and lightly tugging at Santana's hair, Santana closed her eyes, letting everything from the past few days fade out of her thoughts, letting go of everything in her world but the taste and feel of Brittany in her grasp.

"Human affection, how sweet," came a sneering voice from close behind her, startling her to the point that Santana gasped, pulling away from Brittany with panicky reaction not because of fear of danger, but because of her fear of who might have watched her kiss. "I wonder if it affects the taste of your blood?"

"We'll know soon enough," responded the second voice, giving a sinister chuckle. "I call the blonde!"

"Actually, Santana had me first, and this sidewalk here is definitely not the most comfortable place for a threesome or foursome," Brittany deadpanned, looking past Santana at the other two critically. "Also, you need a facial and fixing your overbite before I'd even think about kissing you. It looks like it would hurt."

"You have no idea how right you are," the taller male snarled, and then both figures were lunging towards them, mouths opened wide, and Santana's mouth dropped as she took in their deformed faces, the sharp teeth that could only be described as fangs.

Were these the vampires that Faith had told her about? Could this actually be happening?

Giving a shriek of shock as much as fear, Santana leaped backwards, with an agility and distance she could not have achieved two weeks before. She grabbed hold of Brittany's wrist and dragged the taller girl with her as she did so, forcing Brittany to stumble and fall to her knees. As one of the vampires dropped before Brittany, snatching at her, Santana reared back and kicked it in the face as hard as she could, getting surprising and grim satisfaction when it howled, blood spurting from its nose and mouth. As the second vampire came forward, giving an infuriated hiss, Santana struck out blindly, battering it with her hands and fists. She could hear Brittany behind her, calling out comments that were more admiring in tone than encouraging, and Santana barely felt it when the vampire returned her blows in kind, struggling to gain control.

"Aren't we supposed to cut out their hearts and fill their chest with garlic?" she heard Brittany muse, and that was when Santana remembered a piece of what Faith had said. Stakes- you were supposed to kill a vampire with a stake to the heart. But where the hell was she supposed to get a stake?

Her eyes scanned the sidewalk frantically, and seeing a fairly large stick lying in the grass beside it, Santana scrambled for it, taking it up in her fist in a firm grip. The next time that the vampire came towards her, she thrust out her left hand, puncturing its chest with a rough, jerky jolt forward.

At first nothing seemed to happen, and Santana started to panic, wondering how she was going to pull the stick from its chest and just how pissed off it would be with a fresh new chest wound to spur it on. But then she watched the vampire scatter into ash, its skeletal frame briefly distant, and disappear into nothingness. She heard Brittany comment calmly, "Wow, that didn't even make you sneeze…hey, hands off!" before she remembered that there was a second vampire to contend with as well. Snapping closed her gaping jaw, Santana spun on her heels, grabbing it by its shoulders just as it seized hold of Brittany's upper arm and jamming the stick into his chest as she forced it around to face her.

As this vampire too faded into nothingness, Santana stood still for a few moments, her chest heaving, still tightly gripping the stick in her hand. It was difficult for her to believe that this had really happened at all, that she had genuinely just…killed? staked? slayed? what could not have been anything but a vampire.

So what Faith was telling her, if that was true, that vampires were real…then the rest of it was too. Santana was a Slayer. And apparently, she had just slayed her first vampires.

"That was totally awesome," Brittany's chipper voice brought her into the present again. "You totally kicked their ass, San. Do you think you're a robot? Like the terminator?"

Looking over at her and meeting her bright eyed gaze, Santana forced a smile. She didn't want to let go of the stick- not only because another vampire might show up, but because her hand might start shaking.

"Of course not, Britt. How would I suddenly be a robot?"

"Programmed with amazing combat skills and a super powered computer brain," Brittany nodded, obviously already convinced that this must be true. "Makes total sense. You're at the very least a cyborg."

"Britt," Santana countered, amused in spite of herself. "How exactly would I become a robot."

"Well, they say cell phones cause cancer," the blonde shrugged, seeming to find her response reasonable and quite logical. "Maybe they cause people to become robots too. Way better outcome. Maybe we need to start sexting more, so I can even up with you."

Santana just shook her head, not able to hide her smile. Even as the adrenaline remained in her system, flooding her veins so that her entire body felt as though each nerve had been prodded into action, she tried to take a breath to settle, focusing on Brittany instead.

"Maybe we need to go home, Britt. That was pretty fucked up, I don't want you getting hurt."

"Oh, I'm sure my robot genes will kick in soon, maybe tonight," Brittany shrugged her off easily. "But if you're worried they might be delayed, you can walk me home."

Santana did as she suggested, not letting go of her hand for one moment until Brittany had safely been kissed good bye and had disappeared beyond the confines of her back door. Every step of the way she had found her eyes darting side to side, searching for any possible approaching danger that she would again have to fight against, but nothing approached. It wasn't until she was almost home again that she heard someone address her.

"I saw all that go down before you walked your girl back, you know. You got the job done, not bad for a first timer, but compared to where you should be, skills-wise, you suck ass."

Santana's head whipped around, and as she took in the outline of Faith, leaning casually against a tree a slight distance away, she scowled quickly, stopping short in the middle of the sidewalk and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Okay, you might through some freak of nature mistake be somewhat blood related to me, but you're taking the whole big sister thing way too damn seriously if you're gonna be stalking me out the house to go tattle to my mommy."

"Didn't have to stalk, I was out doing my own patrol and you and the blonde weren't exactly quiet," Faith said wryly, her own eyebrow raising in a near mirror of Santana's. "I was gonna back you up and save your asses if you needed, but you handled it on your own. Sort of. But if you go about it like that the next time, all clueless and half assed, and you get distracted for a second, your girlfriend could die. You really want that to happen?"

Of course Santana didn't want that to happen. She had been terrified of that exact possibility even with everything that was going on around her. As much as she hated how Faith had worded it, what she had said to her was true. She didn't know how to fight in a way that would definitely keep them both safe; she had been lashing out blindly and in the end, had just been lucky.

But she didn't want to acknowledge what the older girl had said. Instead, she voiced the other thought that had been on her mind from the first moment, the one that might be obvious to Faith, but needed to be said, in Santana's opinion, all the same.

"So…that was a vampire? A real one?"

"In the flesh. Or in the dust, or bone fragments, or whatever you want to call the things and what's left of them," Faith confirmed. She pushed herself off from the tree, taking a few steps towards Santana, and Santana noticed then the sharpened piece of wood in her hand- a homemade stake. "And there's gonna be more. You're a Slayer, Santana. If you deny that now, you're pretty damn stubborn, but way more stupid. And vampires and Slayers, they've got some kind of crazy magnet thing going on. If you're out at night they're gonna find you, because they have a death wish and a kill the Slayer wish all at once. Your goal here is make sure the Slayer death is the one that doesn't come true. So. You gonna come with me, or what?"

Santana just blinked at her, unsure of how to react. Faith was right, she could hardly deny it now…but still, stubbornness in her ran deep.

"Where is it I'm supposed to be going, Dracula's castle?"

"Nope, some hole in the wall diner that's open 24/7," Faith explained. "'Cause you're hungry, right ? Hungry and horny, but I can't help you with the second and you already dropped the blonde off."

At Santana's startled stare, Faith broke out into a grin, the dimples that mirrored Santana's appearing in her cheeks.

"Slayer thing, kiddo. You'll learn."

She started to walk off, not glancing back to see if Santana was following her, and after a few moments of hesitation, Santana did. What the hell. She was hungry, and if Faith was going to pay, well, she wasn't one to turn down something free thrown her way.


	9. Chapter 9

Santana knew, the next morning, that the hand shaking her shoulder belonged to Faith, even before she heard the older girl's voice. Her mother would have lightly touched her shoulder, then backed away out of habit in case Santana tried to take a swipe at her. Brittany would have wrapped her arms around her and nuzzled her nose into Santana's neck, making it much more easy and enjoyable to face the new day. Obviously only Faith would be brash enough to jostle her shoulder like she was towel drying her hair and calling out her name in no special effort to keep her voice soft.

"Santana, wakey wakey. Sun is up and sleep time is over. Let's motor."

She couldn't be serious. Santana ignored her, attempting to pull her covers even more firmly over her head, but when Faith gave them a good yank, exposing her head, and then actually had the nerve to tousle her hair too, Santana let out a growl, snarling out a curse that Faith only laughed at.

"Right, you wanna fight me now, right? Awesome, 'cause that's exactly what we're gonna do. After we run."

"Oh, you're not fucking serious here," Santana groaned, attempting to pull at the covers again, but Faith yanked them off her and threw them to the floor, tickling the bottom of Santana's bare foot until the girl kicked out at her viciously, only just missing Faith when she dodged. Faith laughed again, taking the blanket and throwing it over her shoulder as she started to pull clothing items out of Santana's drawer.

"Damn, you really were in the closet, huh? All those little skirts and tops and not one pair of overalls or cargos…aw, there's the flannel, I knew that was more like it!"

She tossed a pair of cheerleading practice shorts and a t-shirt on the bed with Santana, jerking her thumb towards the door. "You wanna learn to slay, you gotta know to play, and your bod's gotta pay. At least at first. So let's do this."

"I'm not doing shit in the mornings except my girlfriend, and she's sadly unavailable," Santana muttered, all the more irritated when Faith just laughed again. Especially when she saw the dimples in her cheeks that only reminded her of her own- and the genetic link between them.

"Nice to see you got that Slayer/player ego. Let's see if it earns its shit. Unless you're scared you can't keep up with me. Gotta say, those scrawny little chicken legs of yours do give me doubt."

She started to back out the door, seemingly casually, but for Santana, those were fighting words. She threw herself out of bed and on her feet, almost violently pushing past Faith to get out of the room even as she simultaneously pulled on her shorts. Faith just smiled, not saying a word as the younger girl stalked down the hallway to the bathroom, slamming it shut behind her.

Competition. That was every Slayer's week spot, because damn it if they wouldn't kill themselves to be the best.

88

Two hours later, the girls had both finished their run, both somewhat out of breath but pumped up with adrenaline. Santana had surprised Faith with her endurance, something that she had teasingly mentioned must be due to her cheerleading workouts, to which Santana had replied with great dignity that this was absolutely true. They had taken a breather for breakfast- which for once, Santana ate without complaining, picking at it, or worrying about the fat or carbs- and then Faith had taken her around to the back yard, intending to teach her the basics of how to fight.

"First thing is, the only reason you didn't break your hand or arm last night from the way you went about it was that you're a Slayer, and you were lucky," Faith informed her, rolling her eyes. "Never seen such a girly punch tactic in all my life."

"I know how to punch, I'm from Lima Heights!" Santana had protested, indignant at the mocking. "I've been in more bitch fight battles then some trailer trash chick like you could dream of, and that's probably saying a hell of a lot."

"First off, you're full of shit, second off, your idea of a bitch fight battle probably means you slap each other across the face a few times and pull some hair," Faith countered, raising an amused eyebrow as though to dare her to say otherwise. She watched as Santana's cheeks flushed and her eyes darted away, giving a smirk of her own.

"Yeah, thought so. Now you want to learn some shit that will really bring someone or something to the ground if you needed, or do you keep wanting to fight like a cheerleader?"

The boxing lesson went on for the next thirty minutes or so, until Faith was fairly well convinced that Santana had an idea of what she was doing and had managed to land several punches Faith hadn't blocked in time. Taking another brief break, tossing a water bottle to her and taking a swallow from one herself, Faith had summed up the next phase in lessons casually.

"If you were around Giles or Wes, they'd be giving you this whole history of the vampire, probably saying it with a weird British accent and spelling, and they'd want to give you the history of every Slayer ever in existence and all this other shit that really you won't care about and don't actually need to know. Me, I'm just concerned that you know how to do the shit you'll need to do and you'll know it well enough to survive. So we'll skip the history lesson and just get down to the basics. Today we fight and block and get in shape. Tonight, we slay."

And that was what they had done. With Faith's instruction, what Santana had testily labeled as "drill sargent commands," she had guided her through basic instructions in throwing a punch, landing a good defensive kick, blocking blows coming her way, and using her body to put full force behind any defensive moves she might make. Santana had twitched and recoiled away from any touch Faith had made towards her at first when she had laid her hands on her shoulders or waist, trying to position her the way she wanted her to go, until Faith had raised an eyebrow, remarking with some sarcasm that she was hardly getting off on touching her baby gay half sister and she liked a girl with a bit more junk in the trunk, anyway. After that Santana's scowl had left deep furrows in her brow, and she had thrown herself into her movements with gusto, determined to show Faith that this little "baby gay" without junk in her trunk could kick her ass if she wanted.

After Faith brought the lesson to a close, she had smirked at Santana's heaving chest, her slightly sweaty brow, and took a swig of her own water bottle before tossing it Santana's way, along with a clean towel. When Santana had made a face, balking at drinking from the same bottle, Faith had rolled her eyes, commenting with some disdain.

"Right, so you'll eat your girlfriend out and probably not even brush your teeth after, but you can't share a water bottle with someone that shares half your DNA, that makes total sense."

She had grinned to herself at Santana's flabbergasted look, as the girl's mouth opened and closed, indignant. "How the hell do you know I do with anyone, and why the hell is that even a thought in your mind if you don't get off the junk in my trunk?" Santana had sputtered, even as Faith stretched first one arm, then the other, giving a lazy shrug in response to her once she had put them back down.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you the bottom in your quote unquote relationship? Sorry, I guess that does make more sense."

"I'm not the bottom of anything," Santana started heatedly, starting to move closer to Faith, drawing herself up to her full height and squaring her shoulders, as though in preparation for a verbal war. "But I knows you aren't gonna-"

"Finish this not so interesting conversation? Gots that right, I got some other shit to do, mini-Slayer with the mini ass," Faith cut her off, smirking.

For her own amusement more than anything, she reached out and ruffled Santana's hair, grinning to herself when the girl glowered but didn't try to slap her. The girl wasn't stupid, she'd give her that- even with her temper, she'd already figured out from their boxing lessons that trying to best Faith in any kind of fight would end up with getting her junk-less ass kicked.

88

For the next several hours, Faith gave Santana some space. She took a break of her own, taking the time to call Angel to give an update, texting- and maybe briefly sexting- Cordelia, and walking around the main area of Lima, getting herself acquainted with possible vampire hot spots. She wanted to know where the youth of Lima hung out, where the shadier side of town began, and she didn't necessarily trust Santana to give her fully accurate answers. With her curiosity somewhat satisfied a few hours later, as well as her need for some space and time to herself, she had returned to the Lopez home, unsurprised to discover that Santana had bounced out hours ago. She wasn't in the mood to track her down just yet, so that was fine with her. What was slightly more uncomfortable was that Maribel Lopez had just returned home from work, and she wasn't about to let Faith get away with a nod of acknowledgment and slinking away to the guest room.

"Ah, Faith, I was hoping to get some time to talk to you. Sit, sit, would you like something to drink, something to eat?" Maribel had stopped her from moving past her with a hand to her arm, already attempting to propel her back towards the kitchen.

Somewhat uneasy, Faith had tried to gently ease away from her touch, but the smaller woman was persistent in a way she hadn't been prepared for. "No, I'm good, thanks. You don't have to do anything, I was just-"

"Of course I don't have to do anything, I know you have arms and legs and a working brain and are perfectly capable of doing everything yourself. But that doesn't mean that I don't have the good manners to serve a guest in my home, and I love to watch a girl who enjoys good food and drink. You look like a woman who knows good food when she sees it. My Santana, now, she is one who has to be coaxed to eat at times if she is in one of her silly dieting moods, but you do not look as though you would go for something so silly. Sit, carina, sit!"

It seemed the easier and faster course of action to just listen to the woman rather than to try to argue with her. Faith was strongly reminded of Buffy's mother, Joyce Summers, and her intense interest she had originally shown Faith when she showed up. She was sure that as it had been with Buffy, Maribel's interest in Faith was also not in Faith herself, so much as in what information Faith could help her to understand about her own daughter. This time, though, Faith couldn't really begrudge or resent Maribel for it. As she sat across from her, letting the woman serve her with some tea and a plate of what looked like possibly cornbread with jalapenos in it, Faith tried to relax, to put on the "professional" face Cordelia had insisted she try to adopt among clients- even though Cordelia had lamented more than once that Faith's effort looked more like a grimace than an interested smile.

Maribel didn't seem to notice this, though. Instead she leaned intently towards Faith, lowering her voice as though in confidence as she spoke to her.

"I would bet that daughter of mine is giving you grief in your interactions with her, yes? Tell me, Faith, is she progressing at all yet? I know you have been working with her- what do you think?"

"Well, she has a ways to go, of course, she's just starting out," Faith shrugged, taking a sip of the tea and appreciating its flavor as she spoke. "But she started off in good physical shape, so she has endurance and speed and flexibility on her side. She wasn't very strong before, I would guess, but she definitely got a boost from that, once she was called, so really it's just technique and skill she needs to work on. That and focus and attention. But those are things you learn over time, same with instincts. She's not really thrilled about all of this, obviously, and I can't blame her, really, but she does want to beat me, and she's got something to prove, so I think in the end that will push her forward. I say she's got a lot of potential to have what it takes. Her only problem is, is she gonna use it, or is she gonna let other things distract her first."

Maribel seemed to be considering this as she frowned, nodding thoughtfully.

"My Santana, she acts tough, she acts like she knows all," she confided to Faith, shaking her head. "But she's a child yet, and she does have much to learn. She is strong, I know this, but sometimes I think no matter what she tells the world to the contrary, it is something she does not yet know herself. Santana is tender, she is so easily hurt so deeply. I only want to see her grow strong, if I cannot keep her safe."

She was quiet for a few moments, and Faith didn't break the silence to make promises she knew the other woman would see as the false words they would be. She too could not keep Santana safe; that was simply not a word that came with the job description, once a girl had been called as Slayer. Safety was suddenly a fantasy rather than an assumed right.

She had thought that Maribel would press her for further answers about Santana and her future, or at least ask more questions about what training Faith was doing with her, but the woman surprised her by meeting her gaze with her own, instead focusing her attention on Faith herself.

"But I know much of my daughter already. It is you, Faith, that I truly want to know. Tell me of yourself, of your life. Tell me what has helped make you the woman you are now."

She could hardly have startled Faith more if she had suddenly removed her shirt, along with her bra and her underwear. Faith blinked at her, more than a little taken aback by this request. She was definitely not accustomed to someone wanting to ask questions about her and her life, especially someone who was, whatever their past connection once had been, little more than a stranger to her. What did Maribel care about her life, unless she was fishing to find out if she had a checkered past that would only further endanger or influence her daughter?

"My life's been fine," Faith tried to play off, shrugging again, even as an uncomfortable and involuntary memory of Earl literally setting her lying pants on fire a year or so back popped up into her head. "Pretty typical life, if you take out the prom dates and Friday night football games and add in a few vampires and demons and near death experiences."

"Oh, something tells me that isn't true," Maribel said wryly, shaking her head. "One thing that you and my daughter have in common, Faith, is that you cannot tell a lie without being very obvious about it, no matter how still you try to keep your face."

Something in Faith's expression must have shown her discomfort to the woman then, because her expression softened, and she patted Faith gently, lowering her voice as she addressed her.

"Do not get me wrong, Faith. I am not trying to pry, I don't want you to tell me anything that you think too personal. I know that to you, I am not much more than a stranger. But to me, you are the little girl I knew so long ago, the child I thought I might be a mother figure to one day, at one point in time. To me, you are my daughter's sister, and that makes you something to me too. I just want to know you."

Her voice was so clearly earnest that Faith squirmed inwardly, wanting nothing more than to look away. The woman had further intensified their interaction by reaching out to touch her forearm, and Faith breathed in, still keeping her voice as nonchalant as possible as she responded.

"Ain't much to know really, Maribel."

"Oh, I disagree," Maribel said quietly, shaking her head. "I think you have a wealth of experience to share with the world, and much within you I would like to come to know, if you ever feel ready to share. I can guess without you saying that life has not been easy for you, Faith. But I can see that you are strong, and for you to come all this way, not knowing what Santana was to you, simply to try to help, well, that tells me you have an enormous heart too. You don't have to tell me anything, not if you don't want. I just want to know if you are happy. Happy in your life, and happy in who you are."

Faith thought about her question, and for once, she didn't feel an instinctive need to deflect something so personal from being shared. Maybe it was the softness in the woman's eyes, the way that she could tell that Maribel Lopez genuinely meant what she was saying, that it seemed to matter to her what Faith's reply would be. Maybe it was because she herself had grown soft, spending all this time with Angel and Cordelia and even Fred, all who asked way too often how Faith was and what she had had occur in her day. Whatever the case was, she found herself truly considering the woman's question and answering her with the truth.

"I'd say yes," she said, her shoulder rising and falling in a small shrug. "To both questions. I'm happy with who I am, and I'm happy in my life. Not every day, not in every single way, but overall, most of the time? Yeah. Things are pretty good. Way better than they used to be."

She could tell that Maribel was truly listening to her from her soft smile, from the slow nod the woman gave to her in response. "I am glad," she said softly, her head still tilted as though to observe Santana more closely. "And as for love…you have it, yes? There is something about people, when they love and are loved…you can see it in their eyes, in the way that they carry themselves. I can see it in you, can't I?"

Again, this was definitely not a conversation that Faith was used to having. Angel and even Cordelia were definitely not people who smoke freely of emotions, especially ones as touchy feely as love, and Faith could count on one hand how many times the words had been exchanged between herself and her girlfriend. As for Angel, Wesley, Gunn, even Fred- never. Not once had she said the words, and not once had she heard them out of their mouths, directed her way.

And yet she was. By every single one of them, she was loved, and she knew this without having to hear it said. She just knew.

Faith couldn't keep back the smile that curved her lips when she nodded, not speaking the words aloud. Looking back at Maribel, seeing the woman's soft returning smile, she didn't flinch, even at the woman's spoken words.

"I'm so glad that is the case. That's all any woman ever wants in life, all any mother ever wants for her daughter."

Faith's shoulders tensed slightly at her words. She wanted to tell her that she was not her mother, that her mother was long gone, and that her mother, who hadn't been much of one towards her in the first place, might not have agreed with that assessment. But as she continued to regard Maribel's gentle smile, fixated on her, she realized that it may in fact might not be her, the adult Faith before her, that the woman was seeing, but rather the pudgy, curly-haired three year old she had once known. The daughter of an alcoholic member of the Irish mafia, a cheating loser who couldn't be bothered to stick around long enough to even try to raise his daughter right, or at least make sure that her mother would try. If she thought about it that way, that the toddler Maribel had known had become the woman she was now, well, it was sort of a weird thing. Maybe it was a little amazing.

She wasn't Maribel's daughter, no matter what relationship she was to Maribel's actual daughter. She didn't want to be, no matter how nice the woman might be. But when she looked at the way that Maribel looked at her, she couldn't bring herself to snap back.

"Santana can be happy too," she said instead, speaking the words that she thought Maribel might want to hear. "And she's already loved, so she's halfway there already."

Maribel's smile grew softer still, and she reached out a hand, lightly touching Faith's cheek, before letting it drop. Faith held still, trying to ignore the way her skin tingled slightly where she had been touched.

"She is," she said, her words now carrying a hint of sadness. "She is, very much. If only she could learn to love herself, then everything else would be so much easier."

She pulled back from Faith then, giving her one last touch on the arm before she left the room, and Faith watched her retreating form, her brow slightly wrinkled. Somehow, she couldn't quite shake the woman's words from her mind.

What if that was her true mission here- not to teach Santana the pathway of a Slayer, but to teach Santana, as she herself had once had to learn, years before, how to love and accept the love of others- as well as how to love herself?


	10. Chapter 10

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," Santana's voice was thick with what seemed genuine horror as she shook her head, her expression set in an actual grimace as she regarded her surroundings. "It's bad enough that you are forcing me to be hanging out with you in any capacity rather than actually having fun with my girlfriend. But to take me to a place where only the biggest of dorks would be caught in, dead or alive? Are you trying to drive me to a particularly violent suicide?"

"See, that part about dead or alive you mentioned, that's the important part here," Faith had pointed out, keeping a firm grip on the faintly hostile teenager's arm as she continued to propel her through the door of the teenage open mic bar- the only place anywhere close to a teen club that Lima, Ohio happened to harbor for Friday night "parties." "Because vamps that have been dead for a few centuries aren't really up on what's considered a cool teen chill zone, and this place has vamp territory written all over it. Not to mention, only the dorky kids that can't get a Friday night date-"

"Which is NOT me, as you're keeping me from mine," Santana had broken in hostilely, but Faith ignored her, continuing as though she hadn't spoken.

"Only the dorky kids who can't get a Friday night date would show up here, so any vampire is pretty much gonna have easy prey for seduction. These kids are easy pickings, so there's gonna be all kinds of people for you to practice saving."

"Or I could save my ears and my soul by getting the hell out of here," Santana muttered, shaking her head as she let her hand be stamped to go inside. "The kid on stage sounds like a dying wildebeest stuck in a quicksand trap."

"Well, it's almost over," Faith shrugged, barely glancing at the kid that they were discussing. "Look, when you're in a place like this, even if you're not officially on vamp killing duty, you ought to be looking for them anyway, 'cause trust me, you're not gonna get many nights out anymore where they aren't kinda stumbling across your path just because you're here. You're pretty much a chaos magnet now, so at least learn to identify the baddies before they start biting. So look for the ones that are really outdated, or too obviously slick for a place like this, the ones hitting up the dorks even though they look like they're way too confident to bother stooping that low. 'Cause even if they're not vamps they're probably gonna try to roofie them or something, and even though you can't kill humans there's no law against roughing them up a little if they really deserve it."

She noticed Santana looked pretty interested at this remark. As the first kid finished up his "song" and almost tripped off the stage, Faith gestured towards the next kid eagerly taking his place, her smile lighting up her entire face as she almost snatched for the microphone.

"Hey, that one's not so bad. Weird clothes, yes, I don't get the animal sweater and knee socks thing if she's trying to go for naughty school girl, 'cause it isn't really working, but she's kinda cute anyway."

At the casual description of the girl in question's outfit, Santana's eyes widened, and her head jerked over towards the stage, taking in the sight of the now loudly and dramatically performing girl with something akin to horror. She shook her head vehemently, both hands up as though in protest as she raised her voice over the rather high volume of her singing.

"Oh fuck no, I am NOT doing this. I am NOT hanging out anywhere that Rachel freakin' Berry is on the stage. No fucking way!"

She started to storm towards the entrance, as much of her reaction due to fear as to jumbled social hierarchies. This was the first time she had seen Rachel since Finn's death. What would happen if Rachel saw her, out at a club as though she didn't care, as though it had never happened? What if the girl started crying, or pointing at her, announcing what she had done? What if Rachel actually tried to talk to her?

Heart racing, Santana tried to make her exit, but Faith's grip on her arm pulled her back, and her lips pressed against Santana's ear as she spoke.

"You need to be here, Lopez, for more reasons than one. But the most important one? That dude to the right of the stage, completely slobbering over that girl? Vampire if I've ever seen one. Watch, as soon as she's done and soaked up her encores, he's gonna head straight to her and start flattering her and flirting, and then he's gonna try to get her to leave with him. Guaranteed."

"Oh please, no one is going to try to pick up Rachel Berry, not even in dork central like this," Santana said skeptically, rolling her eyes, trying to seem as skeptical and scornful as possible despite her still pounding heart.

But as she reluctantly followed the direction that Faith was indicating, she could see the person in question and the intense way that he was staring at Rachel. He was no one Santana recognized, but he reminded her a little of Jesse St James- just a little too confident and assured of himself and his sexual power, and older than he should be to be interested in a girl Rachel's age. That alone could be concerning, but paired with the pallor of his skin, and a weird tingly feeling that came over her when she looked at him, she had to concede that Faith was probably right- he did look like a vampire.

But that didn't mean he'd hit on Rachel or try to eat her or whatever. Right?

Coming to stand close to her, one hand- part support, part restraint- still resting on her shoulder, Faith nodded her head towards Rachel's dramatically performing figure on the stage, her voice matter of fact.

"You know this girl, I take it."

Santana didn't answer her, nor did she avert her eyes from Rachel, as much as she wanted to. Of course she knew Rachel Berry. She had been attending the same schools as the other girl since kindergarten, and more often than not, they had ended up in the same classes. The girl had transitioned from an annoyance to a social target to deflect her own insecurities onto, to a teammate she only barely could tolerate, to an extended family member of sorts that she was sometimes, though she would never admit it, just a little bit in admiration of for her talents or determination, or at the very least not quite feeling murderous towards. Her relationship with Rachel was complex, and it certainly had become that much more so after what she had done to Rachel's boyfriend, and what Rachel's boyfriend had done to her.

Santana could not imagine what would happen if she ever actually looked Rachel in the eye again, let alone stood close enough to attempt an actual conversation. She had no idea what the other girl must think or feel towards her now, and a shamed and panicky part of her did not want to know.

And now Faith was not only forcing her to remain in the same room with her, she was actually going to make her save Rachel's life, potentially, or at least divert it from being in danger. Which, granted, was kind of probably appropriate, given that she had ended the life of Rachel's boyfriend. But it also meant that she would have to be within arms' length reach of her, most likely, and she would probably have to actually speak to her. And that, well, that was just not something Santana wanted at all.

"Look, Rachel's not as dumb as she looks," Santana tried, attempting to think of something, anything that would get her off the hook. "How do you know she's gonna go for that guy anyway? I mean, her boyfriend hasn't been dead for very long. I'm surprised she's even stopped watching the death scenes of Rent on repeat and wearing all black at this point in time. How do you know she's gonna go for someone trying to pick her up?"

Faith just raised an eyebrow, inclining her head in the general direction of the girl in question. She had a point. Rachel's song had just come to an end, and after accepting her applause, she had exited the stage, only to be stopped, as Faith had predicted, by the male figure, blocking her path. Faith didn't say anything, just pointedly looking between Rachel and Santana with her eyebrow still raised, as Santana thinned her lips, struggling to think of another excuse.

"Okay, well, you know, Berry's been through a lot lately, so. Like, I'm totally new to all this Slayer life saving shit, in fact, this would be my very first time-"

"What are you talking about, you saved your blonde girlfriend's ass the other night…sort of," Faith interrupted, but Santana, flushing and looking around furtively to see if anyone had heard her refer to Brittany as her girlfriend, continued on, stammering only slightly.

"It would be my first time, more or less, and you know, that means I'm bound to screw up, so. I think, you know probably it would be better if Rachel got her ass saved by someone who knows what they're doing, you know, someone like you, so why don't you take over this time and I'll just watch and take mental notes. Then I can get the next girl when I'm more experienced."

She thought it was a pretty good argument, herself. But Faith was unmoved. She just stared at her for a few seconds, shaking her head, before she spoke.

"Listen, Santana. I get that you'll protect the people you care about, the people you love. Your mom, your girlfriend, yourself, that's fine, that's whatever, but guess what, any girl off the street would try to do that. Here's your second test here. You can fight, sort of," she qualified, wrinkling her nose as she thought of Santana's unskilled efforts at "fighting" her first time around. "But are you gonna protect strangers, people who might not give a shit that you risked yourself for them, or might even be pissed off about it? Are you gonna protect people you don't even like and wouldn't give a second glance to most days? 'Cause that's what you gotta do as a Slayer. Believe me, if you fuck with that, if you start making your own rules, it's gonna come back and bite your ass…or at least make it burst into flames," she smirked a little, remembering her own experience with that. "You're a fucking Slayer, Santana. They picked you for a reason, and you might not know what it is or agree with it but you can't buck against it either. A true slayer slays, and a true Slayer protects, period. Not because you have to, but because you're driven to. Because it's who you are. You're not just some cheerleading scared kid anymore, you're not just your mama's daughter or your best friend's bitch or your girlfriend's snuggle bunny or however the hell you usually think of yourself. You're a Slayer, and it's not just a job, it's a calling. So what are you gonna do?"

She jerked her head towards Rachel and the identified vampire, who was currently putting a hand on the girl's shoulder, inclining his head towards the exit, as though he were telling her that they should go get some fresh air.

"We already know that's a vamp. And that's a chick who needs saving from getting her ass killed or turned. So…what are you gonna do?"

Santana bit the inside of her cheeks, seeing as she looked towards Rachel again at the girl was walking towards the exit. Put like that, there was of course no real other option. If Faith was going to stand back and let the girl go without speaking up, then Santana, as much as she hated this situation, was going to have to be the one to move forward.

"I swear, one day, me and you, Lima Heights style," she muttered under her breath, but regardless of her words, she started to make her way towards the crowd, approaching Rachel and the vampire. She was aware, to her own irritation, of Faith staying back, her eyes on her, and she bit back all the curses rising to her brain as she continued to approach.

She was aware of Faith's eyes on her back, even with all the other people in the room, as Santana followed Rachel's retreating form out of the building. Internally she was shaking her head, incredulous of the other girl's actions. How could Rachel, the girl so concerned with safety that she had literally lectured about seat belts during homeroom one day, just go off with a guy she had met seconds ago? Was she that desperate for attention and compliments, were they so rare in her life from males, or humans in general? Or was she that lonely, that needy of a distraction, after Finn?

That possibility made Santana feel so bad that she couldn't stand to consider it actively for long. Thinning her lips,she tried to shake it off, quickly hurrying out the door towards the quickly disappearing girl in question.

As she followed Rachel and the apparent vampire, she saw that he had taken her outside to the back exit of the building, one not supposed to be used by its patrons. Santana shook her head, disgusted by Rachel's actions. Didn't the girl realize that this was a huge no, even if the guy just wanted to get laid instead of sucking out all her blood?

She guessed Rachel did realize that, because even as she drew closer to her she could hear the girl talking a million miles an hour, earnestly addressing the other "person" and gesturing dramatically for emphasis.

"You truly do seem like a very nice gentleman, and I very much do appreciate your compliments as to my voice, although it does seem that perhaps you do not have as much musical knowledge as myself and therefore cannot be taken quite as seriously in your opinions. However I do appreciate your flattering words and I am flattered as well that you find me attractive. I would not be opposed to meeting up with you some time in the future for perhaps a warm beverage or a meal of sorts, however, as it stands, I am currently in the process of a rather complicated grieving and I do not think it would be entirely fair to you if I were not to inform you that any advances on your part towards me may be difficult for me to process through as I am quite unsure of my feelings in regards to this and the timing may not be very good at this point in my life. Also, I have to say that standing out here in this section of the building where others cannot see us and there is really very poor lighting makes me just a little bit nervous, I think perhaps if we could move into the parking lot or perhaps the sidewalk, then we-"

"Rachel, he has fucking fangs, open your eyes!" Santana yelled, just as she saw the vampire, apparently losing patience for pretending to listen and care about what Rachel had to say, opened his mouth wide, leaning in as though intending to simply end Rachel's words by biting through her neck as she turned her head to gesture towards the sidewalk. As Rachel's head swiveled between Santana and the fang-baring vampire in question, and her eyes widened, a scream rising up from her lips, Santana lunged forward, seizing Rachel's wrist in a grip that was likely hard enough to bruise the girl as she yanked her back from his reach.

The vampire snarled, clearly put off by being denied his meal, and he snatched out at Santana, seizing her by a long lock of her hair and trying to pull her and Rachel as well back towards him. As Rachel screeched again, yanking at Santana ineffectually as though to pull her close to her to use as a shield, Santana shrugged her off of her and out of range of them both, already gearing up for a fight.

She socked the vampire in the chest, then in the face, remembering not to pull her punches and to use the motion to put all her weight behind the blows, as Faith had taught her. Gaining confidence from the vampire's reaction of pain, she blocked his next attempt at a blow, then hit him again, adrenaline already pumping through her veins. This was actually easy. This was actually fun. She took her time, but when she decided to go ahead and put him out of his misery, she realized one crucial piece of information.

She didn't have a stake. Nor was there any wood lying around in the alleyway, waiting to be utilized. And barring a weapon to chop off his head, how the hell was she supposed to dust the guy?

"Santana, what are you doing?!" Rachel was squealing behind her, actually gripping the sides of her face and giving little frantic hops of horror at what she was witnessing. "Santana, call the police, there is something drastically wrong with him! What if he's contagious?!"

Santana ignored her, trying to stall long enough to figure out what to do. Maybe Faith had mentioned another killing method she had forgotten? But just as she was genuinely starting to get worried, she saw Faith slip out the back door as well, eyebrow raised as she regarded Santana's struggle.

"Maybe forgot something?" she called, flipping a stake out her hand and into Santana's direction.

Santana had no time, for once, for any smartass remarks in return to her. She just snatched the stake in midair, taking it and slamming it into the vampire's heart. She watched in gratitude as his skeletal system materialized, then faded away into literal dust that scattered into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the stake she was still holding out. Her eyes darting from Faith, leaned casually against the alley wall, to the still chattering Rachel several feet away, Santana tried to follow both at once with what they were saying.

"Had to borrow one of those a time or two myself," Faith was telling her, one shoulder lifting in a shrug. "Not too bad for a rookie. Looks like the girl is in one piece, though it kinda sounds like maybe her tongue was jarred a little loose."

"Santana!" Rachel was gasping, her eyes still so wide open that it appeared she wasn't blinking. "Santana, I don't understand, what just happened to that man? His face, it was deformed, but it wasn't before, do you think he had a sudden and rapidly progressing illness? I hope you didn't breathe in his air, tell me you didn't let him breathe on you. Oh goodness, I hope he didn't breathe on me. Santana, did you know him? How did you know he was going to hurt me? You saw him, he was going to bite me, it was as though he had rabies? Do you think he had rabies?"

It was entirely too much for Santana to deal with. She had done what Faith wanted, she had saved Rachel freakin' Berry, so shouldn't that mean she should be free to go off and be left alone now instead of get a headache from Rachel jabbering in her ear?

"You're all good now, Berry, so just…chill out and go home, all right?" Santana muttered, trying not to even look at the other girl. She brushed past both Faith and Rachel, irritated as the latter immediately fell in step with her.

"I don't feel safe walking by myself after that happened. I don't suppose- I mean, I don't mean to impose- did you drive here, by any chance? If you could give me a ride…Santana? What happened to that man? How did he just….disappear?"

Santana shot Faith a pleading look past Rachel's shoulder, but the older girl just looked back at her, unmoved. Obviously, she viewed this question as Santana's problem for her to come up with her own answer to. Santana avoided it entirely, instead addressing the first part of what Rachel had asked.

"You realize who you're talking to, right? Why the hell would you want to be anywhere near me, let alone share closed off quarters with me?"

Even as she spoke there was a slight catch in her throat, and she had to clear it to make the words continue to emerge. She still couldn't look at Rachel as she walked towards the parking lot, all too aware of the girl just at her elbow.

She didn't know what she expected Rachel to say to that, exactly. She would have thought that the next time she came face to face with Rachel Berry, she would get a slap across the face and a long winded lecture about how she had ended the life of her one true love. But instead Rachel took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height, and looked Santana in the eyes as she spoke with obvious determination in her tone, despite the emotion in her eyes.

"Well…you just saved my life, Santana, and although I don't understand how or why that came into being, exactly, it still happened, and I certainly would be remiss not to acknowledge that. If you would save my life…well…I suppose I know, and I always have known, that you would never have…caused the action that occurred, towards…towards F-Finn…on purpose. I know…I don't know what happened, or how, either here or there…but I know that you didn't mean it. And…and I suppose I forgive you."

Santana was speechless. It wasn't often that she found herself unable to think of anything to say; it was in fact her comfort zone in life to be sharp tongued and quick on her feet, able to come up with a smart retort for anything that someone might throw her way, keeping herself from being hurt. But she had no words now for the other girl's earnestness, and so she blinked, aware of a sheen of tears standing in her eyes that she had to concentrate on blinking back.

If she were Rachel, and it was Brittany who had been killed, even accidentally, by another person, she wasn't sure that she could so quickly and genuinely forgive the person who had caused her death, especially if that person had been someone she wasn't on the best terms with in the first place. But Santana had been downright cruel to Rachel, and to Finn at times too. And yet still the girl stood, earnestly but genuinely forgiving her. How was this possible?

Santana couldn't come up with any words to say to her. But Rachel didn't seem to notice or care. Instead, she shocked her further by leaning in closer and wrapping her arms around Santana in a brief but tight hug before stepping back, biting her lower lip before she spoke.

"Come back to school, Santana. Please? Glee isn't the same without you, and we need you so much more now."

She didn't say the words, but Santana knew that she meant she was needed more with Finn gone. Finn had been the captain of Glee club, the leader of the pack, especially the males, alongside Rachel, and although the groups had split for half of the girls to join Troubletones with Shelby Corcoran, a part of Santana had suspected, deep down, that the split was only temporary. And here was Rachel, after everything still asking- still wanting- for her to return.

"I can't," Santana managed, barely speaking around the lump on her throat. She was aware of Faith's eyes on them, from where she remained leaned against the alley wall, and she couldn't, wouldn't look at her, though she knew Faith was watching her. "I can't go back to that school now."

"But you can," Rachel said, her voice softer, and she took a step closer to Santana, invading her personal space to look into her eyes. "You can. If I can go to that school every day from kindergarten on and hold my head up high, being who I am- being different, and disliked, and marginalized for the sake of my talent and my apparently frustrating personality, then so can you. You can comeback, Santana, and even if no one else will accept your presence, you can trust that the Glee club will. We are family, no matter what, even if you don't admit that to others you know that for yourself. We can't have one of us back again-" and here her voice cracked before she took a deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling. "But we can have you, if you'll come. So please, Santana. Come back."

Santana didn't answer her, despite her knowledge that Rachel was expecting her to. Instead, she started walking abruptly towards her car in the parking lot, moving her head jerkily to indicate that Rachel should follow. As the girl trailed after her, seeming to be still waiting for her reply, she could see Faith too, following out the corner of her eye, but she didn't speak as the other two girls got into the car, Faith in the backseat, Rachel in the passenger's upfront. Until then, Rachel had been so hyperfocused that she hadn't noticed Faith, but now she couldn't help but do so with her joining, and she started to ask Faith who she was and to introduce herself. Throughout this exchange, Santana remained silent. In fact, she didn't' speak still as she pulled into the Berry's driveway, ignoring Rachel's goodbye to her and Faith as she watched her make her way to the front door and disappear inside. Faith said nothing, and so she drove in silence back to her own home, but it was far from silent inside her head.


	11. Chapter 11

Faith didn't push Santana any further after that night. She could tell that the girl was processing a lot in her thoughts and feelings, and hell if she wanted to get more involved in that than she had to be. It was hard enough for her to have to deal with her own, when she didn't much feel like it most of the time, or Cordelia's, on the occasions that Cordelia demanded for her to make an effort to be a "normal, halfway non emotionally robotic human being" and respond to her in what Cordelia had determined to be acceptable. If Santana really needed to talk about feelings, she could go to her girlfriend, or her mother, or else Earl could pick up the slack, couldn't he? Just why was it anyway that Earl was making Faith be the one to have all the talks with Santana anyway, instead of making Santana deal with her emotions on her own like he had with Faith?

Okay, so that wasn't totally true. Actually he had basically forced Faith to seek out support and comfort from others, opening her up to trusting other people and letting them into her life, which, she guessed, was sort of what he was doing now, by forcing her to talk with and interact with and listen to Santana, who was her half sister, after all. Sort of. And probably in his point of view, part of doing that was dealing with Santana emotions. But it wasn't like Santana was coming to her with them openly that night anyway, and besides, it wasn't like Earl had specifically said to talk to her right now.

So Faith didn't. Instead, she exchanged a few words with Maribel as she and Santana returned to Santana's home, assuring her that Santana's silence didn't mean she was in any way harmed, and then retreated to her guest room, taking out her phone and messaging Cordelia. A good ten minutes later, she was well on her way to talking Cordelia into a skype sexting session, and she had in fact started to tease her by slowly removing her shirt, one finger toying with her nipples, before she heard a hesitant knock at the door and an all too familiar teenage voice calling her name.

"Faith? Are you still up?"

Faith froze, her hand still halfway up her bra, and then barked a startled laugh as she looked at Cordelia's raised brow on the screen, shaking her head.

"Way to kill that mood way fast," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Congrats on cock blocking when you ain't got a cock."

"Like you do?" Cordelia retorted, rolling her eyes back at her, but she too seemed a little breathless. "I take it that would be your junior slayer semi relative calling. Can you realistically fake a snore, or at least enough pornographically exaggerated moans to chase her off?"

"She's a baby gay too, she might think I'm watching an awesome video and want to join in," Faith smirked, fixing her bra back reluctantly. "Though that's kinda incredibly disturbing when I think about that statement all over again. Hang on."

Turning her head to call back to Santana, she told her, "Give me a sec, Lopez, okay?"

"Okay," Santana called back, her voice still hesitant. "I just, I wanted to see if you were up so we could maybe talk about something. It's whatever, though, I mean we don't actually have to-"

"Okay, okay, don't spaz out and start babbling and backpedaling, just give me a second," Faith told her. With a sigh, she looked back at Cordelia. Rolling her eyes again, she gave her a smile as she pulled her shirt back properly in place. "Put on a pause? Sounds like I gotta be all responsible and shit right now."

"Hold up. Is this really Faith Eliza Lehane here?" Cordelia said in mock suspicion, both eyebrows raising. "Or is this a demon impersonator holding her captive inside her own body, because that sounds more likely than Faith Lehane stopping a sexual act to TALK to somebody."

"Damn, you caught me," Faith smirked, raising up both arms in faked surrender. "Damn it, and I was so close to my world domination in the hottest bod available for my taking. Well, if you want your real girlfriend back, all you gotta do is hop on a plane to Lima and then you gotta extract me out of every body cavity you can, using only your tongue and-"

"Faith?" came Santana's voice again, and Cordelia snorted, covering her mouth with a well manicured hand as Faith flinched again, exhaling loudly.

"And that's my cue to exit. Apparently." She kissed her fingertips, waggling them towards Cordelia in a goodbye, and whispered one last sexual innuendo that made Cordelia smirk and smile simultaneously before she logged off, calling back for Santana to come in.

The girl was dressed in plaid pajama bottoms and a white wife beater, Faith noticed with no small amusement- no doubt an unconscious lesbian fashion of choice. She came in without much self consciousness, despite her earlier hesitation at the door, and in fact flopped down beside Faith on the bed, giving a little bounce as she looked at her expectantly, seeming eager for her approval and agreement as she started to talk.

"Did you see how I got that vamp tonight? Like how I was fighting him? I was getting in some pretty good hits, right? I wasn't dropping my shoulder, right, he seemed to really be feeling the impact."

She gave another little bounce, still talking at a rather fast pace as she looked over to Faith, not interested in her phone or whatever she had been doing that required a wait.

"I didn't have a stake though, how come you didn't tell me I would need a stake before I chased after him with nothing but my fists? How come you had the stake if you were going to make me be the one to finish him off? And how awesome is it when you put it through them, and they just BAM, nothing but dust in the wind? Pretty fucking sweet, how does that work anyway? Is there some kind of science to it or what? I mean, we're supposedly all made of dust anyway, so is that what it is, they're basically reanimated dead dust and once you get the heart it all goes back to what it used to be? Or what?"

She was looking at Faith as though she expected her to have all the answers, and Faith's mind was already reeling and rejecting even trying to follow her train of thought. She made a face at Santana, holding up one hand as though to slow her down before replying.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up, speed speaker. If you didn't bring a stake it's your own fault, get with the program, we weren't going out to play friggin' croquet. Although if you had been prepared for that you woulda been better prepared for slaying since the little hammer things are wood and all. Don't ask me why the vamps do what they do when we dust them, all I know is how to do it and what I see. Don't know why and never really cared, I just kind of did it and moved on, that's the important part."

Was this why the girl had interrupted her sex session, seriously? For asking shit she could try reading in the boring as hell Vampyr book?

"What, you didn't wonder shit too?" Santana asked, turning more fully to face Faith in seemingly genuine surprise. "Really? But it's all so weird, didn't you want to know everything you never used to think was real?"

"Not really," was Faith's honest response, paired with another shrug. "I had enough going on without having to add more studying on top of it all. I kinda just took things as they came up and reacted and that was the end of it." She paused, considering, before adding, "That's just sort of how I deal with things in life. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't, but it hasn't worked out too bad with the slaying stuff so far."

Santana made a face at this, seeming thrown at this even being a possibility. "I can't do that. I want to know exactly what I'm dealing with so I can have a plan and take it down. With everything. If you don't know what to expect then you don't know how to react and you can't come out on top, how do you just go through life reacting?"

Faith raised an eyebrow at her, a flicker of insight coming over her before she could think it over too deeply. "That kinda goes for everything with you, huh? With people and your cheerleader popularity game, being gay, whatever else, not just slaying shit. Huh?"

Santana frowned slightly, her eyes flickering away, and she reached up for her dark ponytail, twirling it uncomfortably between her fingers. Faith took this to be a direct confirmation of her words and smiled to herself, expecting a denial, but Santana simply changed the subject.

"So what was your first time like? With slaying?"

Faith thought back, a twinge of nostalgia and sadness both settling over her chest as she recalled. No matter how much time passed, it was still difficult to speak of her Watcher, Diana Dormer, without feeling emotions, having memories, that she would rather not. Diana had been the first person Faith had felt to truly care for her, the first person to truly take an interest in Faith and believe genuinely that she could be someone, that she could make something out of her life, and though time had passed and the rawness of her feelings towards Diana's death, as well as her guilt in regards to it, were not as sharp, she still avoided returning to them when she could.

"It was pretty cool," she said briefly, giving a shrug and keeping her voice light. "I had a Watcher, that's kinda like a teacher of Slayers, if you don't remember me saying, and she went with me kinda like I did with you and stood back and gave me instructions. I kinda made a mess of it with my first one, I totally missed the heart, but I got it the second try and I did better with my second vamp."

She smiled, remembering Diana's rare eye roll when she had missed the first vampire's heart, and her forcing Faith to study a book of human anatomy before taking her out slaying again. Santana snickered at this sharing, her eyes bright with enjoyment as she looked up at her.

"So you're telling me that I did a better job than you, 'cause I got the heart on the first try?"

Thinking this over, Faith too gave a startled chuckle and a good natured shrug, bumping her shoulder against Santana's.

"If you wanna call it that, sure. Whatever."

Santana was still smiling as she accepted this, and Faith realized, looking at her with something close to affection, that this was the first time she had really seen Santana relaxed and happy, proud of herself, and wanting to talk and share. This was the first time that Santana had spoken to her like she was another person instead of a dreaded boss or enemy, and in turn, this was the first time that Faith had sort of enjoyed talking to her too. Even if she had friggin' cockblocked her.

"I'm going to school tomorrow," Santana announced, nodding as she spoke, as though this were a very well decided commitment on her part. But even as she spoke Faith could tell that she was watching her, as though seeking out her thoughts on this decision. "I'm sick of sitting around the house doing nothing or having to work my ass off with you. We can wait until after school to do the slay stuff, right? I mean, the vamps will still be there, they're all kicking back snoozing in the day time anyway, right?"

"Yeah," Faith said noncommittally, nodding. It was true, but she found herself thinking that the more she pushed off working with Santana, the more time she would have to spend with her in Lima, and she wasn't all that enthused about the idea. Santana seemed to sense this, because she frowned, sitting up more fully as she questioned her.

"What? You don't think that I should go? Rachel said it would be okay, and you would think she would be the one kicking and screaming about it the most, right? Do you think they're gonna slushy me or something? Or try to beat me up? No one would lay a hand on me, would they, not if they really believe that I…you know, what happened with Finn. If they think I did it on purpose. I didn't, but they don't believe that…or do they? Rachel believes I didn't, and she said everyone else that saw it, and if they saw it, and they don't believe that, they have to be telling everyone else the truth, right?"

Faith heard the anxious edge to her voice and looked over at her, noticing the tensing in her shoulders and jaw. She gave her a quick smile, laying a hand on Santana's arm, and noticed that again, for one of the first few times, the girl didn't flinch or move away from the contact.

"Hey, if Rachel says it's okay, it's gotta be, she would know, right? It's her boyfriend. Yeah, people will talk and have rumors and believe what they want to believe, because there's always assholes out there that want to believe the worst. But if it gets bad, you've got a tongue and I know damn well you can use it to put them in their place. You can also place the role of innocent traumatized little girl and run to a teacher and tattle, if that's what floats your boat, and honestly, that's probably gonna be your best bet if shit starts going down. Yeah, tattling ain't never been my style, but listen, you got the rest of the year in this place to get through, and you have to do what you have to do to lay low. No one is supposed to find out about being a Slayer if you can help it, no one that doesn't need to know, and adults are the worst ones to know, got that? So if someone fucks with you too much, play the helpless kid and go by the school rules with how you're supposed to deal. That's covering your ass the smart way even if it hurts your pride to do it."

That wasn't something Faith herself would have done, ever, in Santana's shoes. But it seemed the best thing, logically, for Santana. Still, she couldn't help but add her second piece of advice.

"But if you ain't on school grounds and they mess with you? Do whatever the hell it takes to set them back…short of killing. So, like, sprained muscles and maybe a broken bone if you gotta, but hold yourself back from the full deal. Trust me, they're gonna learn that lesson fast."

She could see that Santana was thinking through what she said from her frown, and the way her head dipped down as she played with a seam on her pajama bottoms.

"Brittany already knows. And Rachel just saw me, and believe me, Rachel has the biggest mouth in the school. And Brittany, well, she doesn't try to tell people's secrets, but she sort of slips without meaning to sometimes. So what if everyone knows by tomorrow anyway? What am I supposed to do?"

"You really think they're gonna believe them?" Faith's eyebrows raised as she gave a short laugh. "You told me before that Brittany talks about leprechauns and unicorns like they're her next door neighbors, and Rachel Berry didn't look like the kind of kid people take notice of. If anything, they're gonna think she's half nuts after what happened to Finn. I don't think you have anything to worry about, Lopez."

"That's true," Santana mused, giving a slow nod of acceptance. She smiled hesitantly, still picking at her pajamas before looking back up at Faith again. "Yeah, I guess it will be okay. I'm just…you know."

Faith didn't know, but she could guess. The words scared, nervous, anxious, even guilty, she doubted they were words that often, if after, passed the girl's lips.

"Brittany will be there, right? And Rachel seemed okay too, kinda talky, but not a bad kid. You'll be all right. Better be, 'cause you're a Slayer now, and a day in high school is nothing compared to a day fighting the Hellmouth." Then she paused, reconsidering. "Actually, back in Sunny-D it was pretty much the exact same thing, but, you know, this is Lima, so."

Santana gave her a confused look, obviously not knowing what she was talking about, but then seemed to shrug it off as not worth pursuing. The girls sat together in not entirely uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Santana looked over at Faith again, her voice hesitant, but serious as she spoke up once more.

"Faith? You knew our father, right? He was with you, some, anyway, Mami said. What was he like?"

This had been the last question that Faith had expected. She felt every muscle seize up, her face heating, fists clinching with a sudden and unexpected surge of anger, though whether it was towards Santana or her father, she wasn't sure. It didn't matter. Patrick Lehane was the last person she wanted to think about or talk about at this point in her life, even with the one other person left in the world that she could be certain shared his DNA. Maybe especially with that person.

Not even trying to hide the irritation in her voice, Faith shrugged, one hand running through her hair unconsciously.

"He was a guy. Like a guy. All I can say about it really."

"Well I figured that, kinda hard to impregnate someone without a working dick, even a Catholic Latina," Santana rolled her eyes, huffing exaggeratedly. "But I'm asking for real here. What was he like? As a person. I mean, was he a complete asshole? He ran off and cheated on his wife, your mom, I guess, right? Then he wouldn't say I was his kid, and he ran off on my mami too. Was he just a total douche or was there more to the story, maybe something Mami doesn't want me to know?"

She was looking at Faith with more openness and vulnerability in her gaze than Faith was accustomed to, with such open trust that she grew uncomfortable and shifted, not wanting to look her in the face. Why was she pushing so hard about this?

"How the hell would I know, Santana? It's not like he ever gave me any clues about how he thought, and honestly, I don't want to know. I didn't know any more about any of this than you did so how you expect me to give you the dummy's guide to his asshole brain?"

"But he's your dad," Santana protested, her voice quieter than usual, and Faith could still feel her gaze on her, studying her. "He was my father, but he was your dad. Wasn't he? Didn't you live with him, at some point, if he married your mom? Or did he take off on you too after a while? Even if he did you still knew him longer than I ever did. So what do you remember about him, what did he look like? He had to be white, right, so that makes me half white."

When Faith ignored her, her jaw clinching until she could feel her teeth grind, Santana persisted, leaning close enough that she felt their shoulders brush.

"What I don't get, is why he stuck around for you but not for me. Was it just the wife thing, or did he not want another kid, or another daughter, or what? Why did he accept you and not me?"

There was genuine, barely stifled hurt in her tone, and if Faith had bothered to look, she would have seen it in her expression as well. But she didn't look. She didn't want to look and she didn't want to see, and she'd be damned if she was going to take this conversation any further than it had already gone.

"Listen, Santana, I don't talk about shit that's better left dead in the past where it damn well should be," Faith said sharply, eyebrows slanting down towards her nose as she spoke. "I already went through my own trial by fire of the fucking emotional bullshit last year, and I'm done facing up to shit that will never change and doesn't even have anything to do with my life anymore. I'm done with this conversation, tonight, tomorrow, always, got that? You wanna know about YOUR father, ask your mom, put up a missing poster, friggin' Google him, I don't give a damn, but don't look for me to be the one to share the goods."

She reached over abruptly for the light switch on the lamp by the guest bed, flipping it off and enveloping the room in darkness. She could make out Santana's stunned outline beside her as she announced, "I'm going to sleep."

"But….what…are you kicking me out?" Santana sputtered, sounding more confused than outraged, as Faith might have formerly predicted. She didn't make a move to stand, let alone exit.

"Night, Lopez," was Faith's only reply. With no shortage of subtlety, she yanked at her covers, though they were half trapped under Santana's still sitting form, and attempted to curl her body enough to wedge beneath them all while not touching her. She watched through half open eyes as Santana slowly stood and walked towards the door, pausing to look back at her, the same injured and confused look in her eyes visible even in the darkness, but she didn't speak to her again. She didn't care about Santana's hurt. All she cared about was getting her away and making sure she didn't bring that shit up ever again with any expectation of a reply.

Only when she heard the door click shut behind her and Santana's footsteps disappearing down the hallway did Faith sit up again, taking a shallow breath in and running a hand over her face. Her chest felt tight, and a heated feeling not unlike suppressed tears strained behind her eyes. She kept her eyes closed, her head lowered, and although she could not see, it was not a surprise to her when she heard a familiar deep voice speak from close by.

"Last I checked, Faith, your dad ain't dead."

"What the hell do I care?" she choked, not liking the raspiness of her tone or how difficult it was for the words to emerge through the tightness of her throat. "He might as well be. He's dead to me."

"Is he?" was Earl's pointed response. He didn't wait for an answer. "Seems to me like someone who stirs up all that in you without doing or saying nothing or being nowhere near you is pretty alive and kickin' in your heart and soul."

Faith's head snapped up then, and she glared towards the cross-armed figure leaning against her bedpost then as he regarded her, not caring if anyone heard her raise her voice or what they might think about her talking in her supposedly empty bedroom if they did.

"I'm not talking about this shit, Earl. I already went through all this last year, this is Santana's damn turn now, so back the hell off."

"Just 'cause you did some thinking and had to go through some hard choices and feelings last year don't mean you got nothing left to do today, or this year, or next year, or anywhere else in the rest of your life," was Earl's calm reply. He spread out his hands for emphasis briefly as he continued, "You're right about Santana, she's got a lot to face up to and a lot of places left she's gonna have to grow and change and make hard choices in. Part of that is gonna be coming to terms with who she is and where she came from, and that's something she got in common with you." He paused, lifting an eyebrow before he added, "She's right, you know. She ain't gonna learn about her father from anyone else but you."

"I'm not going to tell her about something that's completely irrelevant to our lives!" Faith snapped, aware that her voice was rising into a yell that would likely be heard by the Lopezes, and could even lead Santana or Maribel to come into her room and ask who she was talking to. She couldn't bring herself to give a damn at the moment.

Earl, for his part, didn't seem to believe her; he never did, when she contradicted him. He just looked back at her, eyebrows still raised, arms still crossed as he countered her in that same infuriatingly calm tone.

"If it don't matter, Faith, then how come you're about to go kick a hole in a wall over it?"

"I'm about to kick a hole through you because you're pissing me off," Faith threatened, but Earl just laughed. The worst about it was that he was right. She couldn't hurt him; she had tried enough times and made herself look stupid every single time to know that. All she could do was waste time and make him laugh at her, and she definitely wasn't in the mood for either.

"I think you know good as I do that it does matter, Faith. Your father and what he was to you, and what he wasn't, it matters. Matters a lot. And if you can't acknowledge what you lost in your life, you surely can't move on past it," he told her, his formerly light hearted tone now serious. Though Faith tried to avoid his gaze, she could feel it on her, almost as though it were burning a hole through her skin. "So if you can't…how can you expect Santana to?"

She didn't have an answer to that. She wasn't sure she wanted to have an answer to it, because any she came up with would only prove him right. But he didn't give her that chance to try. Earl never did use a door for his exits; he was simply gone, as abruptly and without a trace as he had arrived.

Faith wanted to forget that he had ever been there in the first place. She wanted to block out his words, simply lay down in bed and surrender to a blissful and much more wanted sleep. But she couldn't do it. Instead, she punched moodily at her pillow, until she accidentally tore it open; she kicked at her covers until they were in a tangle on the floor. She tossed and turned and sighed heavily to herself, and still, sleep would not come to replace her racing thoughts and the steadily remaining emotions still pressing, unwanted, against her heart.

She didn't want to stay awake, and she certainly didn't want to have to admit that any part of what Earl had told her was right. But nearly two hours after he had departed, she nevertheless found herself rolling out of bed, padding with reluctant steps towards Santana's bedroom door, and rapping on it softly, waiting for Santana's sleepy voice to call out.

Faith made her way inside the darkened room awkwardly, stepping around the casually discarded clothing and other belongings Santana had dropped on the floor as she came forward. She didn't turn on the light; she didn't want the girl to be able to fully see her face as she slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, keeping her face turned to profile. She could see Santana watching her, frowning in faint confusion as she sat up, groggy and still half asleep, and she waited until she was fairly sure the girl was awake enough to pay attention before she quietly began to speak.

"Our father was a douche. He drank, he smacked my mom around. He didn't hit me, but he didn't stop her from hitting me either. He cussed me out when she wasn't around, or when I got in the way, though, but what I hated more than that was when he just ignored me. He didn't make sure I got the things I needed, as a kid, and he cheated on my mom and left me alone with her when that was the last place I needed to be. He left me and he never came back, even after my mom died and that was what I needed the most. To have him, no matter how shitty he could be. He's part of the Irish mafia, last I knew, but he sucks at it so he's running from people he pissed off and in and out of jail all the time. There's no telling what he's done and where he's been or where he's at now. He wasn't just a douche, he was a complete loser, and all my life all I wanted was not to turn out like him. But he was my father. He was my father, and I loved him. And I think he loved me too. I don't know why he left you, but if he had stuck around long enough, he would have loved you too."

Her throat was almost too dry to swallow when she finished speaking, and it took her several moments to be able to gather the energy to stand up, intending to walk out the room. She didn't think she could stand to say another word, or listen to what Santana might have to say. She had made it to the doorway before she heard Santana speak, her voice soft as Faith's had been.

"Faith."

Faith paused, not turning back to look at her, but listening. Several moments passed between them; all Faith could hear was their slightly labored breathing, the sound of her own heart. Eventually Santana spoke, still a near whisper.

"Thanks."

She couldn't have responded aloud. It was the most she could manage to give a stiff nod, and to control her muscles enough to walk away.


	12. Chapter 12

Santana had set her alarm much earlier than she needed to for the next morning. She was sure that she would need that time to be able to psyche herself up into actually getting out of the bed and going through the motions of her day. What was to every other student in William McKinley High School just a typical Monday morning was to her a potentially terrorizing experience, and despite her declaration to Faith and to herself the day before that she was going back, by the time morning came, her mind was scrabbling for any excuse at all to back out.

It was only when she saw Brittany's text to her that she finally rolled out of bed and resigned herself to getting up. Her girlfriend would not allow her any other option.

"hi bb I m w8n 4 u 2day c u at lkr I luv u" was flashing across the screen of her phone, as well as a meme of a robot with "bot power" written under it. Only because Santana had had years of practice interpreting Brittany speak could she understand that the text read "hi baby, I am waiting for you today. See you at our locker. I love you." And of course, the blonde was still firmly convinced that Santana's new strength was due to being a specialized robot.

Santana couldn't hide her smile as she sat up, swinging her feet out of bed and walking to the bathroom to get ready. She almost ran into Faith, who was standing outside her bedroom door in the hallway. Faith didn't react to Santana's lurching back from her except to smirk, raising one eyebrow.

"Was gonna see how long it would take you to actually follow through. Congrats for being a Slayer instead of a scared little girl."

"I'm not talking to you or anyone else until I've had my damn coffee," Santana grumbled, nudging past her into the bathroom. She could hear Faith walking down the hall towards the kitchen as she washed her face, and she took a deep breath as she faced herself in the mirror. She could see in her own reflection her apprehension, and when she forced a smile, it looked pained. Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders, putting on her best badass stare, but it still looked feigned to her.

Shrugging it off, she finished up in the bathroom, taking more time than usual to straighten her hair and apply her makeup. If everyone was going to be gawking at her today, she damn well better look good. She had a near panic attack deciding what to wear, because without being able to put on the Cheerios uniform she wore nearly every school day most of the time, she would actually have to make a decision. It didn't seem right somehow to wear one of her sexy default mini dresses, but she didn't want to look totally slouchy either. In the end she compromised with slim fitting jeans and a flattering but not too low cut shirt, leaving her hair down and straight. As she made her way into the kitchen, her stomach twisting into knots, she told herself that she was okay, even if she wasn't sure she believed it.

For once her mother didn't ride her about picking at her breakfast instead of eating. Instead Maribel gave her a long hug before she went out the door and stroked back her hair, whispering to her in her ear that she was brave and strong. Even Faith knuckled her shoulder lightly as she headed out the door, raising an eyebrow again as she addressed her.

"You're a Slayer, Lopez, right? So act like it. But minus the slaying part in school anyway. You didn't get kicked out the first time around but if you go at it again that would be pushing your luck."

Santana had shoved her back, grumbling a curse, but she hadn't quite been able to hide a smile. And for most of the drive to school, she had actually felt somewhat better at their showing of support. That is, until she pulled into her accustomed parking space- still left empty, thus far- and began her walk into the school, and felt every bit of confidence she had mustered start to sink down low enough in her gut to make her nauseous. It was a struggle to keep putting each foot forward, to keep her head up and eyes straight ahead, not letting herself look around to see what everyone else was doing, and whether they were looking at her, to keep from responding to the whispers and even outright catcalls that she could hear.

Even with her head fixed forward, Santana couldn't help but see some of the stares directed her way, with expressions that varied between mild surprise to confusion to outrage and even malicious glee, as though they finally had a reason to target the person who had once so often targeted others. With each step she wanted to shrink back against the wall, and her legs shook with her desire to turn and run. But she kept walking, a little faster with every whispered comment she could hear, until a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

Santana's head whipped around, and she turned quickly, ready to jerk back and high tail it from whoever it was that almost certainly was itching for a fight. But instead she found herself looking into the intense hazel eyes of Quinn Fabray, feeling the light grip of a hand that was squeezing not to offer pain, but support, to convey a message of her presence. For a few moments the girls looked at each other, unspoken words passing in their gazes, and then Quinn spoke almost theatrically loudly, not so much for Santana to hear as for those around her.

"Santana, you're finally back! I was starting to get desperate, the terrible accents and improper grammar in our Spanish class was inching me closer and closer to the edge, and you know the social hierarchy starts to crumble when all the underdogs think they have a chance of climbing their way to the top."

She drew Santana into a tight hug, for much longer and more intensely than Quinn Fabray would normally hug, period, let alone in public, where others might see and mistake her for something other than straight as a Catholic school girl's ruler. Though Santana had questioned the truth of that long before that particular moment. Santana froze momentarily, unsure at first how to respond, but when Quinn kissed the side of her head, whispering a hissed "relax" in her ear, Santana took a steadying breath. She stayed in the embrace for a few more moments, long enough to blink back the tears of gratitude that Quinn's kind gesture had brought to her eyes, before she drew back, speaking as loudly as Quinn as she linked her arm through hers.

"Few days off and the whole school falls to hell, huh? Can't say I'm surprised, and I don't blame you for being desperate to get all up on this right from the start. Don't worry, Q, we'll push everyone back to their place and stomp 'em down if they keep pawing at our skirts."

She felt herself naturally standing taller, with less effort behind it, as she walked with Quinn, an almost genuine smile curving her lips. Even with the other girl at her side, though, she could hear the taunts go on.

"Hey Quarterback Killer, who the hell let you in? What'd ya do, spread your legs like usual to get your get out of jail free card?"

Santana felt her cheeks heat up, her breath catch in her throat, and she stiffened, even as Quinn kept a warning hand on her arm, squeezing.

"Keep walking," she said in an undertone. "Don't even let him know you heard. Just keep walking-"

And she would have, or at least, she would have tried, if it wasn't for Rachel Berry's interference. She could hear the girl's loud, high pitched voice even before she could see her small form barreling forward, inserting herself in between Santana and the large football player who had called out to her.

"Excuse me, but I do believe that the verbal harassment in which you are currently participating is a form of bullying, and bullying is under no circumstances justifiable either by law of the school or by law of this state, nor of this country. By making such taunting and cruel comments to Santana, you are committing a legal offense which could in fact be considered a form of harassment and even assault, and as you are also untruthful in your statements you could be considered to be committing defamation of character. My dad is a lawyer and if he were to be informed of your current crime he may very well be inspired to offer Santana the option of suing for damages against you and I daresay that you would not be able to afford neither her legal fees nor the amounts that she would be awarded against you, and as both Quinn and myself are witnesses who I am certain would be happy to testify in her favor, you would certainly be found guilty. I do suggest that it would be in your best interest to move along without making any statements further as I would then be compelled to do my duty as a citizen and do exactly as I have stated."

Santana didn't take the time to look over at the boy on the receiving end of her rather long winded lecture, but she could hear from his stunned exhalation of air that he was rather dumbfounded by her passionate response to him. She couldn't blame him. She herself was speechless. Yeah, she had heard Rachel make her case for her to return to school last night, but some part of her had thought that it was said out of some sense of pity or obligation rather than genuine intent. As characteristic as it was of Rachel, she still hadn't expected her to actually go so far as to defend her with a speech she couldn't even entirely follow.

But there she was, little jaw raised up in defiant challenge, her midget fists knotted at her side as though she was actually prepared to swing out at anyone who continued to run their mouths at her. At HER, Santana. After everything that Santana had ever said and done towards Rachel in the past, after what she had done, however accidentally, to Rachel's boyfriend, how could she still stand there in defense of her?

And then Rachel further upped the ante by taking Santana's free arm and linking hers through, forming a barrier of three girls in a line. She didn't wait for any further comment from anyone around them. Instead, nose in the air, she propelled Santana, and Quinn by default, forward, not stopping to address any further comments thrown their way.

Santana knew that Rachel was speaking, her words a barely lowered effort at a whisper buzzing towards her ear, but she couldn't focus enough to try to hear. Instead she just followed along with her, amazed that the girl's short little legs could move so quickly, and when Rachel deposited her at her locker, unlinking her arm and announcing loudly that she would see her in pre-calculus, she could barely manage a nod. She had her focus fixed then on something else, and it was all she could do to keep her body from melting in relief at the sight of her.

"Brittany," she breathed, barely aware of Quinn untwining her arm from hers and subtly stepping back from her, giving her the emotional and physical space to move forward. As the blonde smiled at her, reaching out both hands, Santana took one step and was enveloped in a hug so strong and sure that she felt every bit of anxiety seep out of her, unable to remain when surrounded by Brittany's support. She felt the other girl not so subtly squeeze her ass and smiled into her neck, closing her eyes.

It wouldn't be an easy day, but she knew now she would survive.

88

The day certainly wasn't one of Santana's better days, but it wasn't her worst either. It wasn't easy to continue to ignore the looks and the whispers, from some of the teachers as well as the students, but she had Quinn, Brittany, or Rachel in all of her classes, and in none of them did she feel totally alone as a result. She received a text from her mother encouraging her and another from Faith reading only "Slayer strong, yo," and though she had rolled her eyes, she had also smiled, and she couldn't deny that it had helped her get through the period after in a better mood.

She had even been stopped in the hallway by Sue Sylvester, her infamously volatile cheerleading coach, and that confrontation had been far different than she had expected.

"Sandbags!" Sue had barked, calling her by her usual derogatory nickname for her after Santana had received breast implants in the summer before eleventh grade. "Stop right there!"

Santana had felt every muscle in her body stiffen automatically, as it always had when addressed by Sue. By force of habit since she was fourteen years old, she mentally scanned herself for what it could be that was wrong with her appearance or her behavior that Sue had yet again found lacking. For as long as she had been on the cheerleading squad the woman had ridden her relentlessly to be perfect in body, form, and social status, and Santana had tried more often than not to push herself beyond her limits to meet her ridiculously high standards. What would Sue have to say to her now, after what had happened?

But as she had braced herself for cruel words about Finn, fully expecting to be called the equivalent of a murderer, Sue had merely strode up alongside her, one hand on her hip as her eyebrow rose. She looked Santana's outfit up and down with utter disgust, shaking her head.

"Sandbags, you know full well that any cheerleader of mine is at all times required to maintain perfection in appearance, and that is best portrayed by clothing herself in the outfit of a champion, in other words, your Cheerio uniform. What the hell do you think you're doing, the co-captain of my Cheerios dressed like a common high school slob?"

Santana had blinked, taken aback, before she attempted to respond. "Coach, I thought that after- well, I'm not still on the team, am I?"

"What the hell do you mean, you're not still on the team? No captain of mine is ever allowed to quit, that was written on page 49 of your contract! Did you hear me say the words "get your flat Latina ass and floppy fake milk jugs off my team," because if you didn't hear that from my perfectly formed lips in that exact wording, then you are not fired and you are not allowed to quit. Tomorrow, Lopez, I expect you to be here at practice and showing representation of a Cheerio champion as expected."

She didn't wait for Santana to reply; she had simply strode off without a backward glance, leaving her standing, dumbfounded for the second time. Then again, why should she be surprised that someone like Sue wouldn't find the prospect of a rumored killer heading her Cheerios as less than desirable?

The worst part of the day, to Santana, had not been the reactions towards her of the other students, but rather the reminders, seemingly everywhere, of Finn. She had never realized when he had been a living presence in the school just how much of it seemed to be attached to him. There was his locker, the football trophies in the school's cabinet, the auditorium where he had sung so many numbers in Glee, the classes she had shared with him and the spot in the cafeteria that he had always sat. Everywhere she looked she half expected to see him, looking towards her with his shy, slightly confused grin, and it was this absence, more than any words someone could say, that really struck at her heart.

She hadn't realized, when Finn was there, that if he were gone, she would miss him. And the fact that she was the reason for his absence made it so much more worse to experience.

The final test of the day had been walking into the choir room for the usual meeting of Glee. Santana hadn't wanted to return; it seemed wrong, almost cruel to even try to walk back into the room that she was sure could no longer feel like home. Despite Brittany's and Quinn's reports that the Troubletones had broken up, in the light of Finn's death, and returned to Glee as a blended group again, Santana could not imagine that her presence would be welcomed, or that she herself could feel anything but highly uncomfortable to be part of them again.

But Rachel had texted her repeatedly throughout the day, reminding her of the time of the rehearsal and telling her that she expected to see her then, and even Brittany had insisted that Santana's "cool new robot skills" would definitely mean that she now had unstoppable singing and dancing skills as well. And so at the end of the school day, Santana had, with great trepidation, found herself approaching the choir room door, almost holding her breath as she stepped through.

Everyone had gone quiet at first as she entered, and she had not taken another step forward as her eyes slowly scanned the faces of each person in the room, taking in their expressions with near certainty that it would be nothing but blanket anger and rejection that she saw. And it was true that on some faces, she saw hesitation, ambiguity, and flashes of anger as well. But then Quinn and Brittany had stood subtly, as though preparing to step forward and guide her through, and Rachel had gone so far as to cross the room to her, her voice only shaking slightly as she spoke.

"Santana! We are all so glad to have you back. There's a seat beside me, unless you feel threatened that your admittedly lower voice will be overpowered by my own."

"The only thing that's going to overpower you is Santana's hotness," Brittany deadpanned, tilting her head as she fixed Rachel with something approximating a death stare. "Also her new powers. Did you know she's a robot now?"

"Brittany," Santana hissed, not entirely quietly, but any further admonishments on her part were drowned out by Mr. Shuester as he too nodded acknowledgement of Santana, speaking a little too heartily for Santana to fully believe he was entirely sincere. After all, Finn had been his obvious favorite, Santana one of his clear least favorite, and she could definitely understand him deciding she was no longer a part of the gang. Still, he was looking at her, agreeing with Rachel, even if a part of him was still conflicted by her presence.

"Rachel's right, everyone. Santana, welcome back."

She heard a few murmurs of assent, or perhaps dissent, it was difficult to tell. Quinn cleared her throat, and Rachel started a hearty and apparently sincere response that Brittany and Quinn, then Mr. Shuester and most of the others joined in with, though some were a few beats behind the others. But regardless of the generally accepting attitude of the room, Santana noticed Noah Puckerman looking down at his hands, in fists in his lap, and Kurt, his usually pasty face red, didn't even bother to pretend any applause.

"Mr. Shue, maybe a little advanced warning of her return would have been nice," he said in a tone that she could tell was barely able to remain on the civil side. "We could have used the time to prepare ourselves and determine if we were all in agreement here. Are we seriously going to just move on as though nothing happened, as though she didn't-"

"That is exactly what we are going to do," Quinn cut in icily, one hand wrapping around Santana's wrist as she turned to face Kurt, fixing him with the queen bitch stare that Santana herself knew firsthand was entirely intimidating, having been on the receiving end of it plenty when Quinn was Cheerios captain. "She was brave enough to come back, and we are going to honor that by not beating her into the ground for an unfortunate but unintended occurrence. Isn't that right, Mr. Shue?"

"What about honoring other people?" Kurt nearly spat, his lips pressed into a line so thin they were barely able to be seen. "Like the people who aren't able to come back in here, outside of their own choice, anymore?"

Normally, Santana would have come out of this kind of confrontation with fists swinging and words sharply barbed. But the truth was that Kurt was right. She was an outsider now, in a sense, or at the very least it would be understandable if she decided they should be. She was here, alive and well, in fact, equipped with the sort of abilities most of the geeks in the room would have practically killed for, and the person who had been the leader of them all was not. Intentional or not, she couldn't hope to even out his absence with her presence, when she had sometimes felt she was barely tolerated to begin with.

She started to step back, to back out of the room and forget the idea of returning entirely. But she felt Rachel's hand join Quinn's on her arm, Brittany's, strong and sure, on her back, and Rachel spoke up again, her words leaving little room for argument.

"We are a family here. All of us. Santana needs us, now more than ever, and we need her too, for our family to refrain from being any less broken than it already is. We all hate what happened, Santana too, I know, but the only way we can move on past it is to keep our family whole. Santana included. And that is all that I think needs to be said on the matter any further."

The room was silent for a few moments as Kurt, and perhaps a few more reluctant supporters of his, seemed to digest this. Santana's eyes locked on Brittany, unable to make herself look around to see any faces that might not be quite as supportive, but the silence was soon broken by Mr. Shue's abrupt clap.

"Well said, Rachel. Come on, everyone, we have a lot of work to make up, and I'm sure a lot of passionate feelings to express. So let's get on this."

As they began to warm up their voices, Rachel, Brittany, and Quinn remained in almost a cluster around Santana, as though to protect her from any further outbursts from others. For the first several minutes Santana could hardly make a sound, let alone sing in unison with the others. Normally this would invoke fierce hissing from Rachel for her to carry her weight, but she let it slide then, intent, apparently, on giving Santana slack. And it was this as much as anything else that had happened in the choir room that day that had Santana choke up to the point of a few silent tears streaking down her cheeks.

It wasn't the same here, not anymore. But it was still the closest thing she felt to a home.


	13. Chapter 13

The rest of the choir practice wasn't easy for Santana, but once it was over with, she felt a huge sense of relief, even accomplishment at having gotten through it. She felt somewhat drained, emotionally more than physically, as though every bit of her energy had gone into simply going through the motions of learning the new songs and routines that Glee was beginning to rehearse. But she felt somewhat freer in a way as well, not quite at peace, but less tense. Santana had not listened to music other than at the karaoke bar Faith had dragged her to or let herself sing since Finn's death, and she had not felt the inclination to do so. It would have seemed wrong, even disrespectful to Finn in a way, as though she were enjoying her life after what she had done. But the truth was that singing and music had always been a way for Santana to release her feelings, not just those of happiness and joy but also of confusion, anger, sorrow, and fear, and having gone so long without doing so, she had a lot of pent up feelings to begin to let go of. One Glee rehearsal didn't make them all settle down again, but it was a start, and she found herself not just looking forward but feeling that she would need the next rehearsal to come.

She noticed Rachel, Brittany, and Quinn hanging back after the rehearsal concluded, as though to make sure that no one would approach her with negative remarks after Mr. Shue had taken off. But no one did. They were able to walk together in relative quiet, with Quinn and Rachel noticeably avoiding each other's eyes, until Rachel briefly patted Santana's arm, giving her a fast worded congratulations again for rejoining, and heading off where her fathers were waiting to pick her up. It had once been a source of endless amusement to Santana that the girl was in twelfth grade and still had to be driven everywhere by her fathers, but this time she didn't comment. She just nodded goodbye, standing with her hand in Brittany's, Quinn standing close by, as they took their time walking out to the parking lot to their own cars.

"Do you want to come over and watch some movies?" Brittany asked, addressing both Quinn and Santana with the question as she twined her fingers through a strand of Santana's hair. "I'll let you pick ones and we won't even have to watch the ones that make you cry."

Quinn smirked automatically, even as Santana worked up the energy to roll her eyes and try for a scoff.

"I don't cry at movies, Britt. That sounds cool, but I gotta talk to Fai- I mean, my father and, and my mother. They kinda want me to stick close lately."

"Why? That isn't fair, it isn't like you did anything wrong," Quinn jumped to her defense, her pretty face twisting with her frown as she put both hands on her hips. "It was an accident. Everyone knows that. Why do they have to be on your back now?" Then her eyes darkened, and she glanced at Brittany before lowering her voice. "Unless…do they think you're in danger? Like that if you don't hang around close to them that some idiot might see you and try to get vengeance on you for…you know."

"But that's silly," Brittany argued, shaking her head as she spoke in a dismissive tone. "Santana isn't in any danger, not now that she's a robot. She totally can kick anyone's ass. I've seen it for myself. She's awesome."

Quinn's eyebrows rose to her forehead as she looked skeptically between the two other girls, her own lips now mirroring Santana's former smirk. Having seen Santana's efforts at fighting other girls in the past, as well as how they normally played out with Santana being the one more injured or simply engaging in play acting more than actual causing of damage, she had little reason to take Brittany seriously, and Santana wasn't about to dissuade her.

"Right…well, be that as it may, I can understand her parents' concern. You know how Mama Lopez can get, Britt."

"Yeah, well, something like that," Santana said, finding this excuse much easier to use than even attempting to go into explaining Faith. "I'll check in with the paranoid parentals and if I can meet up with you guys then I will."

She turned towards her car, but just then she heard a male voice calling out her name and heavy accompanying footsteps drawing close. She drew in her breath on instinct, every muscle stiffening with recognition and some dread, and she could see out the corner of her eye how both Brittany and Quinn's heads snapped up as though in preparation to defend her. But as Noah Puckerman stopped a few feet away from her, and she turned to face him, she saw that his head was down, his eyes not quite meeting hers, and his hands were shoved in his pocket. He took one out, running his fingers awkwardly through his strip of hair, before clearing his throat, raising his eyes briefly to hers.

"Look, Santana, you got a second?"

"What do you want, Puckerman?" Quinn's voice was cool, almost flinty, and her hazel eyes resembled colored steel as she drew closer to Santana. Brittany too reached her side, her fingers lacing supportively through the smaller girl's, and from her friends' support of her, Santana was able to draw herself up to her full height, to keep her chin lifted as she waited for his response.

"Puck, I don't want to bitch and fight with you, I'm just ready to go home."

"I wasn't gonna," Puck muttered, his broad shoulders lifting in a shrug. He sighed, eyes still downcast, and Santana saw his Adam's apple bob with his heavy swallow before he spoke again. "I just…look, I just wanted to let you know. What happened with…you know…" he swallowed again, and Santana saw, with a pang in her heart, that he wasn't able to bring himself to say Finn's name.

It was understandable. Puck and Finn had been close friends since middle school, had played basketball and football and been in Glee together all through high school, had dated each other's girls, fought and made up, but in the end, always had each other's back. Finn had been Puck's boy, and although at one point, Santana had been Puck's fuck buddy of the moment, she knew she had never meant to him what Finn had. He would have thrown a fist for her, but he would have taken a bullet for Finn.

And knowing this, she was all the more surprised by the way he finished his words to her.

"Look…I know…I know you didn't try it, all right? I know what happened…you didn't mean for it. I still don't get it…it's fucked up, and it fucks me up to think about it…but I know. You know? I just…I wanted to tell you that."

Santana let out her breath in a shaky exhalation, feeling tears burn beneath her eyes. She blinked, then tried to offer Puck a smile. She couldn't thank him, wasn't even sure she could speak, but she nodded, giving him another small smile, and reached out to lightly grip his bicep with her hand. For the moment, it was all she could manage, and for the moment, it seemed to be enough for him. He nodded back at her, clearing his throat again, and Santana was pretty sure she saw tears in his eyes too before he abruptly turned away and loped off towards his own car.

It took a good fifteen minutes after she had shooed Quinn off and just sat with Brittany in the passenger seat of her own car, letting the blonde keep an arm around her and occasionally kiss the side of her head, before Santana had gathered her emotions together enough to think to check her text messages. Seeing Faith's name, she opened it up, reading the older girl's message to her, dated back about twenty minutes ago.

"Meet me outside house, need to get Slayer supplies."

Santana raised her eyebrows at this, unsure of what exactly that was going to entail. Somehow she doubted you could pick up stakes and holy water from the local Wal Mart or grocery store. Still, she was intrigued enough to make her excuses to Brittany- a few vague statements about "new parts" was enough to convince Brittany that she was on a robot maintenance related mission- and head off to meet up with Faith.

88

"So how was it?" Faith asked, seemingly casually in tone as she met up with Faith outside the shopping plaza she had specified, but Santana could tell from the sideways manner that the older girl was looking at her that Faith was more interested in her response than she wanted to let on. "Did you kick some ass and take some names, or what?"

"I'm pretty sure you specifically said not to do any ass kicking, because their asses might end up unattached from their bodies," Santana reminded her, not bothering to hide her smirk. Faith bumped her hip playfully, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling as she fell into pace with her.

"Oh, someone's got the funnies, then…couldn't be too bad, huh?"

"It wasn't," Santana said after some thought, her words somewhat slow in coming. "I mean, it wasn't too great either, but it wasn't too bad. No one took a hockey puck to my head or tried to rip my throat out with their teeth, so, you know, better than the nights you take me out on."

"Oh, well that means you're definitely on top of the game then," Faith smiled, bumping her again as she approached the shopping plaza's sidewalk. "Me, I like more action then that. Too much safety and I start getting bored." She eyed Santana somewhat thoughtfully before adding, "Something tells me you took the opposite approach to life, but that's gonna change fast."

Somewhat offended, Santana stopped walking, hands going defensively to her hips as she rolled her head back to glare at Faith. "The hell is that supposed to mean, you calling me a chicken? I'll have you know, I know how to have a good time and I'm not scared of anything, didn't you see me face down that rotten breathing dead guy yesterday without anything but my bare hands? Didn't you see me-"

"Hey, hey, cool it, Miss Priss, I'm not busting your chops," Faith laughed, holding up both hands as though in surrender. "I'm not talking about that kind of safety. But there's other things to be scared of than physical danger."

Even as she spoke she could almost picture Earl, standing back looking at her pointedly with his own knowing smirk as he crossed his arms over his chest, and Faith rolled her eyes as though in reply to his imaginary image of him, knowing that the same things she was saying to Santana now had once applied to her. Okay, maybe still sort of did apply to her, sometimes.

"Just saying, you can be scared of shit that is gonna hurt something other than your body, that's all. Like going to school today. Something tells me you weren't scared of what people might try to do to you, so much as what they might think or say about you."

Santana was quiet then, her arms moving back down to her sides as her posture changed. Faith continued to eye her, lowering her tone a little.

"Or like what started the whole Finn thing in the first place. Weren't you slapping him 'cause he outed you?"

"So what?" Santana blustered, lifting her chin, but Faith could see the way she was biting her lip, hear the slight quaver in her voice. "So, that's over with. And no one even cares after what happened with him, me doing- that- to him, kinda trumps me being a big fat lesbian. What the hell is your point?"

"Nothing, Santana," Faith said, keeping her gaze on the younger girl's, her tone as even as her gaze. "All I'm saying is, seems to me, you make a lot of decisions out of fear. You weren't okay with coming out and being with Brittany because of what people might say, even though she obviously loves you, she's totally hot, and she was probably a huge part of what got you through school today. You weren't okay with going to school for so long because of what people might think, even though you know that what happened with Finn was an accident and kinda beyond your control at the time. You weren't okay with being a Slayer, because that meant your life was gonna change and you were gonna have to look at yourself as different in one more way than you already are. But that's the thing, San, being a Slayer, it's all about being different. About being outside of everyone else, because you can't fight, you can't defend people, you can't even know about all the evil shit going on in the dark if you're in the middle of a crowd trying to keep yourself in a bubble of normal. You've gotta be on the outside if you're gonna be what you are, and you're gonna have to hear a lot of shit and have people think a lot of shit about you that's probably totally wrong and pretty damn stupid, just 'cause they don't get it and they never will. Because they won't see or understand the things that you will. And you've got to be okay with that, even if you aren't the center of everything and everyone's favorite everything, 'cause guess what, even when you thought you were, most of them were faking it anyway. You're gonna spend a lot of time feeling like you're really fucking alone, but that's the price you have to pay to be one of the ones who really is at the top."

She paused, still holding Santana's gaze, and asked her seriously, "So, Santana Lopez, can you handle that? Or am I wasting my time here?"

Santana hesitated, her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze just slightly averted from meeting Faith's square on. But then she lifted her chin, looking back at her with determination, and nodded her head.

"Fuck, yes, I am. If you can do it, then you're damn straight I can too."

"Good," Faith nodded, letting herself smile back at her then. Then she paused, furrowing her brow. "Damn, that was a really long speech, wasn't it? I'm spending way too much time with Wes lately…shit, that one should have been recorded."

She smirked at herself, shaking her head, and then looked back at Santana, her tone lighter as she added, "One last thing. You being alone, ain't gonna happen. Because that mom of yours loves the shit out of you, your friends have your back, and now you've got one badass half sister to claim too. That's a hell of a lot more than I started out with."

Even as Santana rolled her eyes back at her, Faith saw her smile, and she wasn't entirely surprised when the girl slipped an arm through hers, holding it for at least five seconds as she shot back, "Whatever, I still gotta see proof of this badass bit. We might as well just say sisters and be done with it though, it's not like I see any missing body parts hanging off you. That would help you look more badass though, just saying."

And whatever the teasing of her words, Faith heard the not quite spoken sentiment behind it, and she smiled too.

88

"So what exactly are we getting at Home Depot that has anything to do with killing undead monster things?" Santana said skeptically as they walked through the front doors of the store in question, eyebrows quirked as she looked over at Faith for her response.

Faith, eyes sliding towards the frowning greeter that had clearly overhead her, rolled her eyes at Faith, jabbing a thumb towards her. "Lesson one, if you're talking about slaying in public, do it quietly or in some kind of code, otherwise people think you're crazy or else just some huge gamer nerd. I'd rather be thought of as crazy, personally, but I don't like pushing my luck."

"Weren't you just the one talking about not caring what other people think?" Santana retorted, but she did lower her voice as she spoke. "Fine, what are we getting here for that THING we do?"

"Plenty of wood here for making stakes. Lots of other useful tools for thing-killing of all types. I'm giving you a tour, showing you all the shit we can use and giving you all my best tales of how I've used them," Faith replied, one arm sweeping out in a grand gesture. "Prepare for Slayer story time experience."

She was walking past the section containing gardening tools when Santana saw her. Almost immediately she froze, her muscles growing tight, and almost collided into Faith, who turned around in annoyance.

"Hey, I get that I'm hot and all, but that doesn't mean you've gotta be right up on me-"

Seeing Santana's expression, she stopped, peering at her more closely. "What? What's up?"

Santana ignored her, her eyes fixated past her to the small, aging woman perhaps twenty feet away. The woman had caught sight of her as well, and she too had stiffened, one hand clutching her purse until her knuckles whitened in a manner that seemed to Santana almost protective. Santana swallowed, feeling her chest compress in near pain even as she lifted her chin, dark eyes glittering with suppressed feeling as she lowered her head into a stiff but determined nod, taking one slow step forward and speaking aloud.

"Hi, Abuela."

"How dare you address me in that manner," Abuela nearly spat, shaking her head so tightly that it looked as though the tendons in her neck would snap. "You forfeited the right to call yourself my granddaughter the day that commercial aired."

"Abuela," Santana said softly, and Faith saw her flinch, genuine pain in her expression and tone. The woman didn't let her continue, drawing herself up to her full, if unimpressive, height as she continued to have her say.

"You align yourself with those- those sinners, those loose women, those…those homosexuals…singing and dancing and parading yourself around like any modest and God fearing woman would not, and then they tempt you into your ways. That was more than enough sin on your head and your soul, Santana Marie, but then you even go above and beyond into just evil. I heard about what you did that to that poor boy. His blood is on your hands now. Your sin lead you into murder. How can you continue to resist God with that on your soul?"

Santana couldn't find words. It wasn't as though she hadn't heard these sort of accusations before, or known that people out there thought or believed them, either about her sexuality or her accident with Finn. Hell, she had heard them today. But to be in a public place, without Brittany or Quinn or even Rachel as her supporters, to hear words of such condemnation, of such contempt, from the woman who had helped to raise her, from the woman who had made her big bowls of rice and beans and scolded her for being so skinny…to look into that woman's eyes and know that she had written her off as no longer her family, as something that was beyond her ability to either accept or love, made her feel as though the breath had been stolen away from her.

She tried to draw herself up, to look her abuela in the eye and gather all her strength and determination of will to tell her that it didn't matter, that she, Alma Lopez, and her opinion of her was nothing to her. She tried to tell her abuela that she was wrong, that she didn't know or understand her and she never would. And it was true- all except for the part about Alma's opinion not mattering. Because she was her family. She was her abuela, one of the people in her life who should love her no matter what, and Alma had made the choice that this was not to be.

She tried to pull those words together into something coherent, to be able to remain calm and strong and not let herself buckle under her abuela's words. But she had forgotten the Faith factor.

"Okay now, just hold up one second here," Faith demanded, her voice not quite loud in volume, but certainly intense in tone as she took two nearly threatening steps forward, her every movement broadcasting her displeasure with the situation at hand. "Just who the hell are you anyway to talk to her like that?"

"This, young woman, is none of your affair, particularly if you are one of her kind," Alma said tightly, her lips pursed as she jerked her chin in Santana's direction, and Faith made a scoffing noise in her throat, both hands going to her hips.

"One of her kind? And what exactly does that mean? 'Cause if you're talking about being a lesbian, no, I prefer not to go by labels. Yeah, I've got a girlfriend, not that it's any of your damn business when I don't even know or have any friggin' desire to know your name, but who I sleep with or who Santana sleeps with, that's got shit to do with whether or not you can have some damn respect for how you talk to someone."

"As I said, young woman, what is spoken between Santana and myself is none of your affair, and I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head when you address me," Alma snapped, her eyes narrowing with her distaste as she turned her full attention to Faith. She looked her up and down, taking in her slim fitting tank top, ripped jeans, tousled hair, and the dark tattoo on her bicep with obvious judgment before shaking her head. She started to turn, as though prepared to dismiss both girls, but Faith stepped in front of her, her voice rising slightly as she blocked her.

"See, that's where you're wrong. You think 'cause you're old and religious you can talk shit about people who didn't say shit to you first, and you get a free pass because of the God thing? Listen, I grew up Catholic and I seem to remember God's got it out for the judgers and the hypocrites too, and I'm pretty sure there's a few lines out there about not being a bitch to children. Santana here, she might think she's all grown into her big girl britches, but I'm pretty sure God and the government still consider her a child, so maybe you and your God need to have a talk about your own sinning before you go running your mouth about what you THINK hers might be. Because I can take a lot of shit from a lot of people, but one thing I can't stand is someone who doesn't know her elbow from her wrinkly ass telling my sister that she's a killer or that there's anything wrong with who she falls in love with."

Faith paused, letting this sink in for a second or two. As the older woman's face registered first indignation at the way she was being spoken to, then confusion as she looked between the girls, seeming to be puzzling over Faith's comment about being Santana's sister, Faith concluded.

"So here's what I'd do if I were you. Keep on with buying your pink flamingos or fat cherubs or whatever standard grandma thing you want to put in your garden here, and until you can get your head back together and figure out what you're missing out on, leave Santana be."

"How dare you," Alma nearly whispered, her voice choked with her rage, but it was not Faith, but Santana that she was looking at. "How dare you."

Her eyes were still on Santana as she started to back away, but Santana, a hoarse noise escaping her, stepped forward, finding her words.

"Abuela. I want you to know…I didn't choose to love who I love. And what happened…it was an accident. I'm not the person you think that I am."

"You were never the person that I thought you were," her abuela responded sharply, shaking her head. "And that is why I cannot have you in my life."

She turned her back then, walking away faster than she normally would have, and Santana stood still, nearly rooted to the spot. Faith watched her from a few feet away, seeing a faint tremor run through her, and she hesitated, taking a slow breath to steady herself before she took a step forward, reaching out a hesitant hand to touch Santana's arm.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, trying to control the remaining anger from coloring her tone. "Sometimes I say shit without thinking when I'm pissed off, and that woman, how she was talking, it really pissed me off. I know she's your grandma or whatever, that's what abuela means, right? She just-"

"Stop," Santana interrupted her, her voice not angry, but simply tired in tone. "Just…"

She didn't finish speaking, and as Faith frowned down at her, confused, she was surprised once more when Santana's arms abruptly wrapped around her, and she pressed her face into Faith's side. Faith stiffened up automatically, and then she slowly relaxed, wrapping a hesitant but meaningful arm around her. For a few moments Faith half held her, letting Santana gather herself, and when the girl sniffed, inhaling, before drawing back, she squeezed her shoulder a little awkwardly.

"So, uh, detour to the wood aisle? And no, that's not a reference to your apparently widely known distaste for penis."

Santana stared at her, apparently disgusted, and then burst out laughing. It was with lighter steps that she followed after her.


	14. Chapter 14

"Behind you!" Faith bellowed.

Her hair wildly tossing about her shoulders with every forceful thrust forward of her fists, she twisted her head away from the vampire she was currently battling to call out to Santana. The younger girl was focused in on the vampire she herself was facing, practicing some of the high kicks and jabs that she had been working on after school that day and neglecting to get to the point and stake him, already. Faith could appreciate that- sometimes it was just plain fun to have something to pound on a little. But there were two more vampires coming up behind her, one with fangs already bared, and she was going to have to drop the fun and get serious with the fight.

Santana's reflexes were quick, and she turned fast on her heels, aiming a skillful elbow to the vampire's face that she had been fighting that sent him reeling as she turned, stake out, to meet the other two head on. A few more seconds of subduing that looked almost effortless on Santana's part, and they were literally dust in the wind. Faith finished off the vampire she herself had been roughing up so she could turn to watch as Santana pursued the fourth, who was now fleeing rather than being foolish enough to stay and fight a double Slayer team. Santana threw the stake, sending it in a perfect spiral to pierce through his back and into his heart, and she whooped in delight when he too exploded into dust.

"Fuck yeah, did you see that?! Could not have been a more badass throw there!"

"Nice, Junior Slay," Faith acknowledged with a genuine grin. "Didn't even teach you that one."

She drew closer as Santana continued, almost babbling with her excitement of her kills, and knocked a hip into hers, halting the run of chatter. "It's awesome to vent frustrations on the ugly faced undead and all, and believe me, I've got absolutely no room to talk 'cause I didn't and don't always follow my own advice, but one thing to keep in mind is you do gotta stop at some point and actually do the kill."

"Yeah, yeah…it just kinda sucks to have to stop and have it over with when you're on a roll," Santana said, grinning sheepishly. "It just feels good to hit something and have them be the ones to break instead of our own hand."

"Hey, tell me about it, it doesn't suck," Faith agreed, smiling back at her. "Still, I gotta pull the responsible card, even if it looks totally weird in my hand, the point is kill, not the thrill. The thrill is the extra bonus part. I guess it's the plus you get after all the minuses of keeping secrets, serious trust issues, near death experiences, and ruining all your hottest outfits."

"Yeah, that part does suck…these pants have dead vampire ash on them now, and that's pretty sick," Santana screwed up her face, giving an exaggerated shudder. "Are we gonna look for more?"

"Damn, Lopez, that's the third cemetery tonight," Faith laughed, shaking her head at her. "Your mama's probably biting those nicely manicured nails of hers down to the roots worrying about if someone drained all the blood out your ass yet. Believe me, there's always gonna be plenty of monsters to kill to go around. No rush on getting it all done tonight."

"Aw, I'm just pumped up, I'm not ready to stop yet," Santana griped, giving a little bounce as though to punctuate her words.

Faith laughed again, still shaking her head. "And this is the chick who swore up and down I was crazy to think her ass was gonna go chase a corpse with a stick. Score one for one of the few times in history Faith Lehane was right."

"Well, I didn't know what it was like then," Santana shrugged, falling into step beside Faith easily as the older girl began to exit the cemetery grounds. "It's different than I thought. I mean, the extra strong part, it obviously has…well, it sucks if you don't know what to do with it, or if you don't know about it, period. But when you're out there and you're just whaling on something, and it's your life or theirs…I don't know. It just feels really awesome. It feels like…free, or something. Like it's…"

"Like it's right," Faith finished for her, her voice quieter than usual, and Santana nodded, growing more serious too.

"Yeah. Exactly. Like it's right."

They continued to walk together, having gone about a block on the sidewalk as they made their way back towards Santana's neighborhood, before Santana spoke again, looking over at Faith with some intensity in her gaze.

"So, you like it, then, being a Slayer?"

Faith didn't alter her stride as she thought this over, genuinely considerate. When she was a teenager, she would have answered yes without any hesitation at all, at least when she was first called. When she was going through the worst of her struggle, she would have said no, accompanied with many choice curse words and vehement gestures. Now, it was a more difficult question, and one she wanted to answer as honestly as she could.

"Depends," she said finally, giving her a fully honest shrug. "Sometimes, no. Sometimes it sucks beyond all sucking, like when someone you really cared about doesn't make it through, or when you did all you could and you still screw up or weren't enough, and you couldn't fix or save someone you were trying for. Or when people don't understand and give you shit because they couldn't begin to get who you are or what you're dealing with. But sometimes, yeah. Sometimes, most of the time, really, it's wicked cool."

"Wicked?" Santana scrunched her nose at her, giving her an exaggerated grimace and eye roll at the world choice, and Faith bumped her shoulder playfully with hers, smirking.

"What, you don't know all the Boston words? And you call yourself a half Lehane. Yeah, it's wicked, or what little cheerleaders like you would probably call like totally awesome," she mocked, putting on her best high pitched Valley girl tone for the last three words and ducking the half hearted punch Santana aimed her way. "Seriously, you can see for yourself what it feels like when everything's going right. Like you're the most powerful person alive, and the world is all yours. Like you are worth something, like you're somebody. Better than somebody. Like you're a god."

She paused, coming to a full stop and stopping Santana too, just in front of the sidewalk by the Lopez home as she faced her full on, growing more serious. "And that's what I'm here for, Junior Slay. Because it really sucks when you don't win, and that can drag you down and make you stop caring or stop trying, and then someone can die. Including you. I don't want that to happen and I'm pretty sure Brittany and your mama don't either, not to mention you, so, training, practice, all that is important even if it's boring as hell sometimes. But if you think it sucks when nothing is going your way and you feel like a failure, I'm gonna tell you right now it's way more dangerous if you feel like you can't lose, like nothing can stop you and you don't have to answer to anyone else because you're better or above them all. Because when you get cocky, that's when you get reckless, and that's when you're really in danger- to yourself, and to everyone else too. Trust me, I know this shit. You killed someone by accident once, and that we can write off, because that was before you knew what you were and how you had to watch your back and hold yourself off. You had one strike already, and you won't get three. Being a Slayer is amazing, but being strong and able to kick ass doesn't mean you're not still a human living in a human world. You can be hurt and you damn well can hurt people that don't deserve it, and then you're gonna be getting human consequences too."

She paused, making sure that Santana was taking her with appropriate seriousness, and seeing the younger girl nod soberly, she lightened up a little in tone.

"So yeah. Being a Slayer, I like it. But there are days it sucks."

Santana was quiet for a while as they approached the front door; in fact, Faith thought that she would manage to get to her room for the night without the girl having anything further to say. But she realized as they started down the hallway that Santana was still on her heels, seemingly ready to follow her into the guest room. Faith turned to face her again, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah?"

"I just…I was wondering," Santana said somewhat awkwardly, looking around herself in the hallway as though to make sure that no one was listening to what she had to say. "I mean…the way you were talking…" She looked around again, then said in a lower tone, "Faith, did you kill someone too?"

Faith drew in a slow breath through her nose, trying to think of how to answer that question. Several faces raced through her mind, each of them ones that she had, at some point in her life, felt responsible for the death of. Her mother, asphyxiated on her own vomit because Faith, at fourteen, had told herself in disgust that she would sleep it off, and had not bothered to check on her until the following morning. Her first Watcher, Diana Dormer, tortured to death because of a trap that had been set to draw Faith in, dead in incredible pain because Faith had failed to reach her in time. The deputy mayor, Allan Finch, accidentally dead first by Faith's hand, then, after Earl's refiguring of time and events, resurrected, only to be murdered because of Faith's failure to save him. Yes, there were many she had felt, and sometimes still did feel, responsible for, but she wasn't sure that this was the question that Santana was asking.

"I don't know," she said finally, her words distant even to her own ears. "I don't really know."

With some effort, she inclined her head in a nod of dismissal to Santana, unable to bring herself to say good night. She disappeared into the guest room, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing her hand across her face. She wasn't terribly surprised when she looked up and saw that Earl was standing across from her, arms folded across his broad chest.

"You got rid of that chip on your shoulder some time back, Faith," he commented, his calm gaze meeting hers. "How long you gonna carry around that anchor on your back?"

"Hi, Earl, come on right in," Faith said sarcastically, sitting up a little straighter and swinging her legs up onto her bed. She stretched theatrically, giving an exhalation as well before she looked back up at him, expectant. "So what lecture you got coming my way now?"

"No lecture," Earl replied, moving to sit at the desk chair across from her with a rather human like grunt as he eased the chair back from its desk and settled his weight into it. "Just something to think about."

Faith rolled her eyes, certain that as usual, this wouldn't be something she wanted to hear, but long ago she had learned that the faster she at least pretended to be listening, the faster Earl disappeared to wherever it was he went when he wasn't hanging around her. She crossed her arms over her chest, lifting the hand on the outside of her elbow as though to gesture for him to continue.

"Right, my brain is on. So…?"

"Santana, she killed that young man, Finn Hudson," Earl said calmly, his eye on Faith's as he spoke. "Right? The boy done pissed her off, she hit him, and he died. Her actions were the direct cause of his death, so it's all her fault. So how come you're telling her to shrug it off like nothing?"

"Hey, I'm not telling her to shrug it off like nothing!" Faith said with some heat in her tone, sitting up straighter and swinging her legs fully off the bed to face Earl. "I know it's not NOTHING, not to her and not to that kid and not to the kid's friends and family. I'm not an idiot. I didn't tell her to shrug it off, I just don't want her walking around like in this state of Angel-like depression and repentance that ends up getting her killed because she thinks she deserves to die. Just because she's responsible for his death doesn't mean it was her fault. She didn't know what would happen, she didn't know she needed to take precautions for something she didn't even know existed, so how can you say it's her fault?"

Earl just looked back at her, eyebrows raised, as he tossed her own words back to her.

"I don't know, Faith, how can you?"

When Faith frowned, not comprehending, he cocked his head at her, giving her a small smile.

"Let that one sink in a minute."

"I don't get it, I'm not," Faith protested, shaking her head. "I don't think it's Santana's fault that kid died and I never said otherwise. I mean, he died because of something she did, but that doesn't make it her fault."

It hit her then, and she scrunched up her nose, half scowling at Earl. "What, are you talking about me?"

"Who else would I be talking about in this room?" Earl chuckled, shaking his head. "I already know the answer here, but I want to hear you say it out loud yourself, 'cause sometimes you gotta hear the thoughts in your head to realize what's wrong with them. I want you to tell me just who it is you think you killed where you can't give that little sis of yours a straight up answer about if you did or didn't."

"If you already know why the hell do I have to say it?" Faith demanded, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, but even as she feigned exasperation, she could feel her muscles tensing up in her back, neck, and shoulders, her heart squeezing tightly in her chest. Earl knew damn well that she didn't like to talk about things like this, from anything from the past or present that brought her pain, but that had never stopped him from making her before and she was pretty damn sure it wouldn't stop him now.

"You heard me the first time I explained that, with that Slayer hearing of yours, and I ain't gonna waste my time saying it again," Earl said, his tone patient, but firm. "Say it, Faith. Who is it that you think you get the blame for killing?"

Uncomfortable, Faith shifted herself on the bed. With anyone else, she would have snapped, getting up off the bed and leaving the room entirely, and her old impulse to do so rose strong for a moment, threatening to take over. But she knew that if she tried, Earl would find a way to block her from being able to open the door, or he would make something weird happen to her like growing a tail or huge lips or something, and the last thing she wanted was for Santana and her mom or dad hearing her shouting at what they would probably view as blank space in the air with huge lips or a tail. Letting out a huge sigh, she looked past him rather than at him, trying to keep her voice tightly controlled as she responded.

"My mother. My Watcher. And Deputy Finch. There, is that enough?"

"Not quite," Earl replied easily, shaking his head. "If I remember right, Faith, you didn't lay a hand on any of those three. Your mama's death was a result of poor choices made in an inebriated state of mind, your Watcher was murdered by a vampire who you took out yourself a few months later, and Deputy Finch, well, you did kill him the first time around, but I undid that and he was none the wiser for it. The second time, well that was a vampire too, and if I remember, one you took out just like the one who got Professor Dormer. Now, I don't make mistakes too much and I'm pretty sure I ain't mistaken about any of that."

Faith could feel his gaze on her, but she refused to look at him. She could feel a muscle jerk in her jaw as she replied, barely forcing the words out.

"You know damn well why they happened like they did."

"Why? 'Cause you weren't there? 'Cause you didn't move fast enough, or read someone's mind? 'Cause people made choices without a thought in their head about how it would affect you, or how their choices could play out for the worst?" Earl challenged.

"Because I didn't stop it!" Faith fired back, lifting her head to glower at him as her words came out more heatedly then. "You're damn right, I wasn't there, I wasn't fast enough, I wasn't good enough, and-"

"That's what it comes down to, in that head of yours, isn't it?" Earl cut her off, quieter now, even gentle in tone. "You weren't good enough, and someone died."

The words felt like a physical cut to her heart. Faith couldn't answer, nor could she continue to look him in the eye. As she bit the inside of her cheek savagely, Earl continued to speak.

"And that's what you carry with you now. No matter how many things you do right, no matter how many people you save, no matter how many people you earn the love and respect of- and that's how you see it, isn't it, Faith, you gotta earn it all, 'cause no one in their right mind would just give it to you- it ain't enough to you. Not good enough to save your mama, not good enough for your father to stay, not good enough to save your Watcher or the deputy, and for the rest of your life that's something you gotta make up for."

"Fuck you," Faith said, but there was little bite to her words. Earl ignored her, continuing as though she had said nothing.

"You don't blame Santana Lopez 'cause her grandmother won't love her. You don't blame that girl for Finn Hudson's death, even though her hand was its direct cause, 'cause you understand the way things happened that rid her of fault. If Santana decided she wanted to stay home one night and watch a movie instead of go out with that girlfriend of hers, and Brittany decided to walk over to Santana's house on her own to surprise her and got attacked by a vampire, would you blame Santana for Brittany's death, because she happened to not be present or aware of what would happen after she made her choice?"

Faith didn't answer. She knew that Earl knew the answer was of course not. She knew the point he was trying to make, but that didn't mean she liked it, or found it easy to accept.

"Then why is it, Faith, that you can absolve Santana of blame for a death she did cause with her own hand, but you can't forgive yourself for deaths that didn't have nothing to do with you or your choices or your will?"

There was nothing she could answer, absolutely nothing that she could give him as logical evidence for her own deeply buried beliefs. Nothing, except the raw, simple truth.

"Because that's Santana, and this is me."

Earl regarded her, his expression sympathetic, even sad. When he reached out, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder, Faith felt a wave of calm sweep over her, diminishing her own heavy feelings to a level just enough that she begin to sort through.

"Because no matter how many experiences you've had, the past year and a half, to build you back up, you still find ways to drag yourself back down. Your mama and your dad both made their choices, Faith, just like Santana's grandmother made hers, and they got nothing at all to do with anything you girls did or didn't do or with the people you are. Diana Dormer made her choices too, and they were all for what she thought would best benefit and protect you. She did as she did because she wanted to give you the best chance to survive, and she was aware and willing of the risks to her own life and more than committed to making that sacrifice. And as for the deputy, that young man was living a life on the edge that his own nerve and abilities couldn't compensate for. He was gonna come to bad end whether or not you ever laid eyes on him at all, and that was something set in motion when you were still in pigtails."

He paused, giving Faith's shoulder another heavy pat before withdrawing his hand.

"You're here to set your sister on the right path, Faith, but if you keep looking back at all the paths you took before and wondering if you could have got to where you are by taking another road, you're gonna trip off the road you're on now."

He gave her shoulder a last squeeze and then was gone before Faith could even think of what to say. In the end, she found herself taking out her phone and pulling up a very familiar university website, staring at the familiar faculty photograph, on the page made in Diana Dormer's memory. Diana's lips were barely curved into a smile, but something about that photo, as sad as it could make her feel, compelled her often to look again. Today was one of those times, but for the first time, looking down at her, Faith felt almost content.


	15. Chapter 15

Patrick Lehane, usually called Pat, stared with bleary eyes towards the television set in front of him, barely noticing and certainly not paying any attention to the pictures flashing across its screen. From where he sat slumped at the edge of the sagging motel bed, he ran a shaking hand through his thinning hair, letting out a despairing sigh. No matter how many times he thought it over, no matter how many times he tried to come up with another way to get himself out of the mess he had put himself in, he could think of nothing, at least nothing that had any real shot of being successful. Despite his Irish heritage, luck was not something that Pat Lehane was born with, and it often seemed to him, in fact, that he could do nothing right.

He had always done his best to take the easy way out in life, conning, scheming, and short cutting his way towards his desires without much regard for the morality behind his actions or even whether or not they would fall through in the long run. More often than not, his efforts at making his life easier had resulted in exactly the opposite, but that didn't mean that Pat tried any the less to make the opposite true.

He had been in many tight fixes and downright dangerous situations in his life, and he certainly had not been able to ooze his way out of them the majority of the time. In fact, Pat had been in and out of jail since he was barely old enough to shave, and he had even spent a few years in prison that he'd rather forget. But never before had he been as frightened and desperate as he felt now, and never before had he been so genuinely sure that his life was coming close to its end.

Pat took another long pull on the bottle in his hands, kicking aside the few already empty ones at his feet, and suppressed a miserable hiccough as he let his shoulders slump. This time tomorrow, if he couldn't pull through and deliver on the supplies he had promised, he was going to owe not only amounts of money he couldn't begin to pay, but at the very least a few appendages, if not his life entirely. And the only plan he could come up with was his usual fallback- to flee.

His eyes drifted up to the water stains and mold on the aging motel's ceiling, and he imagined with a shudder how at any moment, they could burst through the flimsy lock of the room's door, fists and weapons at the ready to try to force him into coughing up something he didn't have in his possession. As his eyes flitted back to the door, tensing as he envisioned this, a loud booming noise on the television made him jump, gasping in alarm as his eyes darted towards the screen.

It wasn't, as he has at first assumed, that someone was trying to break into the room; instead, it was simply the noise of a cannon being fired on the screen as a young, peppy group of teenaged cheerleaders were shown lifting and throwing each other in contorted positions in some sort of complicated routine. Pat gaped at them blankly, blinking as he struggled to process the source of the noise, and when the screen cut to a smiling Katie Couric, sitting across from a middle aged blonde woman in a track suit, he found himself somewhat paying attention as his heart rate struggled to resume a normal tempo.

"As a seven time national champion coach of the cheerleading squad, the Cheerios, hailing from William McKinley High School of Lima, Ohio, Sue Sylvester has had her fair share of controversy in her tactics and choices, both in her professional and personal life," Katie addressed towards her audience, still smiling brightly. "From her 24 hour Saturday practices to her encouragement of a dubious liquid diet of her cheerleaders, her attempt to fire a teenaged student out of a live cannon to her recent efforts at becoming Ohio senator, Sue Sylvester is no stranger to bold and sometimes puzzling moves that intrigue the public eye. But now, another of Ms. Sylvester's recent decisions has come under fire- no pun intended."

"The next thing that could get fired is my Nikes, into those glistening Chiclets you call your teeth," the woman she was addressing growled, her expression nothing short of hostile. Katie Couric, Pat noticed, completely ignored her, not dropping her smile.

"Sue, it's been heard said that you maintain a certain and rather locally well known lesbian teenager, featured prominently in your political opponent's smear ad against you, as the head captain who is poised to lead your squad into their eighth victory, provided, of course, that they will be able to make a comeback from last year's dismal failure, in which you were named the nation's Loser of the Year-"

"We will make that title if I have to surgically replace my girls' joints with those of a jackrabbit to cause higher leaps," Sue snapped, but it was not she, nor Katie Couric's follow up question, ascertaining that the girl she had mentioned was indeed Sue's cheer captain, were what caught Pat's attention. It was instead the photo of a petite, smiling teenager with dark hair and tanned skin, caught in a cheering pose with arms up, right leg lifted, that Katie flashed across the screen to viewers from behind her and Sue Sylvester as she continued to speak.

The girl was not one that Pat had seen before, he was quite sure of it. And yet something about that dimpled smile, the shape of her dark eyes and her nose, were naggingly, disturbingly familiar.

And as he listened to the woman continue, slowly dawning realization began to sink in.

"You're damn right, Santana Lopez is my captain. Santana is the best of the idiocy and flab factories they call teenaged girls that I have to deal with, and she can bark everyone else into shape."

Santana Lopez…Santana Lopez. That, Pat Lehane was suddenly sure, was the same name as the female child that years ago, Maribel Lopez had told him about, claiming to be his child as well. Furthermore, those dark eyes and that slim, straight nose were those of Maribel Lopez, those dimples reminiscent of his daughter Faith's. And that small mole just above her lip…that was his.

Pat took another hurried gulp of the bottle in his fist, wiping his mouth hastily with the back of his hand as he goggled at the screen. No matter how he tried to shove aside the thought, he was suddenly and overwhelmingly certain that Santana Lopez was his child, and this was astonishing enough to consider that he almost missed Katie Couric's next words.

"Ms. Sylvester, what do you say in response to the rumors that Santana Lopez has been accused of being the cause of the recent death of a local high school senior?"

As she spoke, a picture of a tall, broad shouldered boy in a football uniform with a sheepish smile flashed across the screen- a boy that looked considerably stronger, heavier, and sturdier than the petite cheerleader that had previously been shown.

"Is there truth to these accusations, and if so, what thought went into your decision to maintain Ms. Lopez as your captain?" Katie Couric pressed.

But Pat Lehane had no interest in the stern-faced woman's reply, nor did he bother to pay attention to it. His eyes were still fixated on the TV screen, waiting on the off chance that another picture of Santana Lopez might be shown as his thoughts whirred with all the possibilities now coming to mind.

If Santana Lopez had truly killed a boy of that size, or in some way caused his death…well, it hadn't been said how the boy had died, whether it was the result of a weapon or a car accident or a night of drinking and drug use or anything mundane of that nature. And for any other teenaged girl, Pat would have assumed that this was the case and gone back to his considerable stress over his own problems.

But if Santana Lopez was really his daughter- and he was suddenly, for the first time since her mother's revealing her pregnancy, fervently hopeful that she was- then that meant that she was his daughter Faith's sister. And if Santana was Faith's sister, then there was some chance that she carried the same inner workings, whatever they were, that had caused Faith to become a Slayer, a few years before. And if both Santana and Faith were Slayers…

Well, if that was the case, and Santana was currently located in Lima, Ohio- well that couldn't be more than a short flight from Philadelphia, his current location. That was a much shorter distance and much less difficult than trying to track down Faith; although being involved in the shady sort of doings that Pat Lehane had been into for the past few years meant that he was well aware of the existence of the undead, Slayers, and his daughter's calling, it didn't mean he had taken the time or energy to attempt to track down her location. He now knew exactly what town Santana was located in, and how many half Hispanic cheerleaders accused of someone's death could there be in an Ohio town?

If it turned out that Santana, like her sister, was a Slayer, then that meant that all of Pat's troubles could be over soon. If only he could work things out, finally, to his way of dealing.

Reaching for his phone, Pat got to work immediately, Googling the nearest airport, it's closest flight out to Philly, and other needed information. For the first time in days, his heart beat fast not with fear, but with hope.

88

It was late at night when Santana heard her phone ping with the alert that signified she had received a Facebook notification. She didn't reach for it immediately; she was already in bed and sleepy, and it was rare for anyone to give her a comment or like on her page that was at all important. She had been nearly entirely avoiding Facebook since what had happened with Finn, for fear of the comments she might see there about him or addressed to her directly, but when she heard a second ping a few moments later, she realized she had been lying awake, unable to sleep or dismiss it. With an eye roll and impatient sigh, she rolled over, reaching for her phone to check what was causing the noise, and she saw to her faint surprise that she had received a private message from someone she didn't recognize- a middle aged white man with thinning dark hair and a squint, chubby cheeks and an uneasy smile. His Facebook name was Pat L, and Santana didn't recognize the name or find it to be familiar.

Frowning, she clicked to open it, curious in spite of herself. It was probably some borderline pedo who thought she was hot, a well meaning but equally creepy friend of her dad's, or maybe some complete asshole who wanted to yell at her about Finn or else the political commercial that had outed her as a lesbian. But when her eyes skimmed over the man's message, she felt her breath catch in her throat, and she had to read it over another two times to make sure it said what she originally thought it did.

Dear Santana,

I don't even know how to start this off. It doesn't seem right to talk to you through Facebook, like I'm someone you see in real life or that is your friend. I know I'm not your friend. A young girl like you wouldn't want to be friends with an old guy like me even if you didn't have all the grudges you're probably holding against me, already. But I don't know where you live exactly or if your ma has changed her last name to look you up in a phone book, so this is the only way I can think of to try to talk to you at last.

I guess there's no other way to say this except to say it. Santana, I think I'm your father. I don't know if your ma told you about me or not. I kind of hope she didn't, because you deserve to feel like you've got a father that loves you with everything he's got instead of a loser who ran off and left you with just your ma. I've got no excuse for it except to say that I was young and scared and I didn't know what to do, so I did the worst thing I could have. I've done that a lot in my life and it's always hurt everyone else even more than it hurts me.

It was wrong, what I did. Wrong to your ma and wrong to you, and wrong to my wife at the time and my other daughter, Faith. You've got a sister, Santana, did your ma tell you that? I can see her in you, in your eyes and your smile. You're both such pretty girls, prettier and better than I ever deserved.

I'm really not saying any of this very good but I never was a good writer. I just want to tell you that my name is Pat Lehane, and I'm pretty sure I'm your father, and I'm sorry. I owe you a whole lot more than I can ever pay back, and I don't know how to begin except to talk to you now and let you know that I'm trying to make things right. I know I have a lot of explaining to do and you don't owe me nothing but I'm hoping you'll give me a chance.

I understand if you say no but I wanted to ask me if you would meet me outside your high school after school tomorrow, and we can talk face to face. I made a mistake years ago, and all I want now is to see the woman you've become and let you know that what I did wasn't nothing to do with you. If you want me to go on then and never talk to you or be in your life that's okay. I just want to see if we can talk.

Pat

If Santana had thought she was having difficulty sleeping before, it was now impossible. For the rest of the night she lay awake, wrestling with her own tangled web of emotions. Anger and curiosity, trepidation and excitement warred at once within her chest, and each time she reached for her phone, meaning to answer, a different response would come to mind.

She knew what Faith would say, that their father was a loser and a user and she shouldn't waste her time or breath to talk to him. She knew what her mother would say- a string of worries about Santana's feelings and how her father's sudden interest in her life would affect her if he didn't show, or never spoke to her afterward again. She knew that Quinn would tell her to go for it and Brittany would insist on silently coming to stand beside her, and for those reasons, all the differing reactions she knew she would get, Santana didn't share the message with anyone.

Instead, she stayed awake well into the morning hours, tossing and turning and struggling to come up with an answer. It was sometime around four am that she finally sent and committed to her rather short reply, but that didn't mean that she didn't continue to debate her choice after.

See you then.


	16. Chapter 16

Despite her lack of sleep the night before, Santana was not tired throughout the next day. If anything she was wired with her anticipation of the afternoon to come. Faith didn't seem to notice any difference in her demeanor, nor did her mother; Brittany, on the other hand, was another story.

"Did Faith overcharge you?" she had questioned, tilting her head to the side and observing Santana more closely.

As Santana frowned at her, having no idea at all what she was talking about, Brittany had gone on to explain, seeming to think that her meaning was more than obvious.

"You're a robot now, so you need to be fully charged to be at your peak performance. Did Faith leave you plugged in too long last night, because the energy you are showing is very intense."

"Britt, I'm not a robot," Santana had said half heartedly, rolling her eyes, but Brittany just winked, seeming to think that this was some sort of inside joke.

"Of course not, and if anyone ever asks me, that is exactly the answer I'll give them. But much like Mulder, I know the truth is out there."

It had seemed to Santana to take far too short a time for the school day to pass, and almost before she knew it, it was time to meet the man who claimed to be her father for the first time. It wasn't easy to ditch both Brittany and Quinn, but she managed to distract them into thinking that Rachel Berry was chasing them down for an impromptu Glee lecture just long enough to slip away and head out to the school's front entrance without them. She wasn't sure at first that Patrick Lehane was going to be there, but sure enough, as she walked outside, squinting into the sun, she could see a slightly overweight older man in a light tan jacket, squinting and shading his eyes from the sun as he looked around himself in a furtive manner. He seemed guilty, or maybe embarrassed, and Santana guessed that made sense. Not only was he meeting the daughter he had denied all his life, he was also a grown ass man standing in front of a high school like some kind of creeper perve.

She wasn't about to invite everyone who was lingering around to speculate about her by walking up to some random dude like that in front of everyone. Instead she stared at him until he looked up and caught her eye, then inclined with her head slightly for him to follow her as she began to walk around the back side of the building, where the dumpsters behind the cafeteria were located. That area was typically deserted by noon, when all the burnouts had already ditched for the day, so she figured it was a pretty safe location not to be found out by anyone.

Pat followed after her at a slower rate, and when they finally came face to face with each other, Santana looked him up and down, not bothering to hide her judgment. She couldn't see anything of her features in him, and that in her opinion was a relief. But she could see a very familiar mole on his lip, one she herself often tried to cover with makeup on her own face, and when he gave a forced, uneasy smile, she saw all too familiar dimples come into his cheeks.

He was her father, and she could see traces of Faith in his face too. But that didn't mean that he was anything to her beyond someone who happened to share blood.

"So…hi," he started, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and he actually scuffed his shoe on the ground like a bashful, overgrown teenager. "I don't guess I know what to say right now, now that we're face to face."

"Funny, because you didn't have anything to say for the first seventeen years of my life either, except that I wasn't your kid," Santana said acidly, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You know, Pat, the first person you really ought to be talking to is my mother, because you owe her just as much of an apology as you owe me."

There was so much she wanted to say to him then. She wanted to curse him out and call him every name she could think of to make him see what kind of man he was in her eyes, what kind of father he was to have bailed out not just on her and her mother, but on Faith and her mother too. She wanted to tell him that he was way too late and entirely too pathetic to deserve any part at all in her life, even a handshake. She wanted to spit at his feet and walk away, without letting him say a word in defense of himself.

But at the same time, part of her was so desperately curious that she couldn't. She wanted to know who he was, this man who was half the reason she was alive today. She wanted to know where he had been and what he had been doing in all the time he had not been in her life. She wanted to know what he knew about her and what had made him decide now to contact her, and hear for herself what it was he had to say. She wanted some kind of indication that Faith was wrong, that there was a good reason, an understandable reason, for everything he had done.

But most of all, she wanted to hear confirmation that it wasn't her fault. That his actions, his choice to not be in her life, to be her father, had had nothing to do with anything about Santana and who she was.

So she looked Pat Lehane in the eye, her lips pressed into a thin line, and waited for him to start, her heart beating fast with her desire to hear…something. Something that would make it okay.

"You're right," Pat admitted, his shoulders slumping as he shifted his weight, letting out a heavy breath. "That's true, I do owe your ma a lot more than she got from me. Truth is though, Santana, I can't bring myself to look her in the face right now. You understand, I'm not a strong man and I'm not a brave man. It was probably best for you that I wasn't in your life, growing up."

Affronted, Santana crossed her arms over her chest, jerking her chin up as she fixed a glare in his direction.

"No, don't even try that. You can't just shove it off like that, trying to make what you did a good thing. Like you were trying to benefit me somehow. No, you weren't thinking about me at all, you didn't care about me or Mami or anyone but you. It was all about you and don't even try to make it sound any other way than that."

Pat lowered his head, his hands shoving more deeply in his pockets as he gave a slow nod, sighing again.

"You're right," he admitted, his voice quiet, even shamed. "You are. I know that and you know that so you're right, I'm not gonna say nothing different. You're obviously a smart girl and you got that from your ma, not from me. I've never been too smart or quick and that's made things pretty hard for me over time."

Lifting his eyes up to her, he removed one hand from his pocket, spreading it out almost beseechingly.

"It wasn't your fault, or your sister's, or your mother's. It was all on me. I want you to know that."

"Believe me, I know that," Santana snorted, rolling her eyes, but a small piece of her, the piece that hadn't quite believed that, was relieved. "That's nothing you have to tell me, that this is only your own fault."

Pat acknowledged this with a small nod before going on.

"I had a lot goin' on then. I was young and I got married young, to my older daughter's ma, and we weren't happy, even then. I knew I'd made a mistake gettin' married to Diane and I knew I wasn't a good husband or father, and I didn't know what to do to make it different. I met your ma and she was young and smart and pretty, and she made me feel better about myself. She didn't see me like the loser that I was, and I liked that. I should have told her the truth about my situation and I should have believed she was telling the truth about you. I guess I knew she was, and I panicked. I made a mistake, Santana, but you gotta believe I'm sorry for it. I know I can't make it right but I want to try to make it better. I owe that to you, to your sister, to your mothers. I probably can't, but I guess…I'm just asking for a chance to try."

He was looking at her with a drooping, hangdog expression on his face, his head half bowed, but there was something about the way he cut his eyes up at her even with his downcast face that made Santana bristle. There was an anxiety about him that seemed sincere, as though maybe he did truly mean his words. And yet she couldn't quite accept them, and not entirely because of her own emotions.

"You left Faith too, and you knew her from the time she was born," she said instead, her tone cutting, allowing for no excuses. "What you probably don't know, Pat, is that I know my sister now, no thanks to you, and any time I want to know anything about you that's the truth, all I have to do is ask her, because she lived with you. You don't have to tell me how you screwed her over too, but if you ask me, it sounds like I got the better end of the deal. And since Faith knows you best here, I'm gonna talk to her before I make up any big decisions about if you can come around me or my mother or not. I'll get back with you if I decide I want to."

She made her words as firm and final as she could manage, but nevertheless, there was something about Pat's expression in response to her that didn't seem right. Something hopeful, a spark in his eyes that looked almost excited. Like she had already said yes. It didn't make sense, and she frowned as he spoke again.

"You know your sister already? Faith? Did she contact you, or did your mother tell you about her?"

"Well, both, actually, sort of," Santana told him, shrugging. "It's complicated, and it's not your damn business either, if you want to know the truth."

"She contacted you," Pat marveled, and again, Santana stared, her eyes narrowed. His eyes seemed much too bright, and he was starting to smile. "And have you met…?"

"Yeah, recently, actually, which makes you popping up out of nowhere that much weirder. Who the hell knew I had so many long lost family members lurking in the background?" Santana said to herself more than to him, rolling her eyes. "She's staying with me at the moment, and believe me when I say that is NOT an invitation for you to come sniffing around for a guest invitation to my home either. We're gonna part ways today and as far as you're concerned, your role with me is done until I say otherwise. I wanted to see you and I saw you, so until I contact you again, I'm done, get it?"

She started to walk away, but Pat took several steps forward, following. He even went so far as to lay a thick hand on her shoulder, causing Santana to stiffen before she turned quickly, meaning to pull out from under his grasp.

"If Faith is here…can I see her? Can you call her and tell her to meet me here too?"

"Don't touch me," Santana snapped, shoving at his wrist, but she was careful not to do it too hard, remembering well her increased strength and the effects it could have now. "It's up to her what Faith wants to do, but after the shit you pulled against her, I'd bet she's not gonna and I won't be exactly begging her to. And I'm sure as hell not calling her and telling her to come here when I already know she's not gonna and she'll just bitch me out about meeting you without telling her. Like I said, I'll talk to her later and if you hear from me, thank your blurry alcoholic stars."

Because the closer she had gotten to him, the more certain she was she could smell a trace of alcohol on his breath. How far had he driven like that?

"I didn't ask you to tell her," Pat replied, and he was stepping closer again, invading her personal space. "I asked you if I could see her. But it doesn't matter."

Santana's brows furrowed as she blinked at him, her lips parting and her head tilting to the side.

"What the hell are you talking ab-"

She couldn't finish her sentence, because before she was entirely aware of what she was seeing, Pat's hand was reaching out again, grasping hold of her arm. As she grabbed his wrist, trying to adjust her grip to an appropriate strength where she wouldn't break his bones, he took the opportunity of her hesitation to remove a syringe from his pocket and jab it with one jerky motion into the side of her throat.

Santana's mouth opened, and despite her intention to squeeze his wrist hard as she could, hurting him now the intention rather than something to avoid, she realized dimly that her body was no longer obeying her internal commands. Instead of tightening, her hand was loosening its grip, growing weak and slack, and her knees were buckling, her body slumping forward to fall against Pat's. She had just enough coherency left then to register her disgust and fury at touching this man so heavily, of being so close to him against her will, before unconsciousness took over.

88

Faith was beginning to realize that her younger sister tended to take scheduled meeting times casually, if she bothered to show up at all. Although Faith herself tended to be rather careless of punctuality, especially when she had been Santana's age, it was rather annoying to be the one held waiting, and when Santana didn't show for their training session as she had been scheduled to, she just rolled her eyes and decided to take the afternoon off. Santana was pretty close to being ready to be released as a Slayer on her own standing anyway; really, the only thing holding Faith back from heading back to Los Angeles already was that she simply wasn't all that eager to leave her.

It was funny; when she had first met Santana, she had been eager to do the minimum of what was required so she could get back to her own life, away from the sharp tongued, irritating and irritable girl that had no gratitude for her whatsoever. But now it seemed to her as if she had known Santana much longer than the actual length of time that had occurred since they had met, and it left a weird aching feeling in her chest when she thought about the distance between Ohio and California. Against what she would have thought likely at first, she was fond of the kid, and she would kind of hate to leave her behind.

Still, she did have a job and a life to get back to, not to mention Cordelia. She would try her best to see about getting Santana a decent Watcher who could keep watching her back the way Faith was trying to now, and they'd stay in touch, she guessed, as much as anyone with Lehane blood was capable of.

In the mean time, she took the opportunity of the unexpected free time to find take a leisurely walk in Santana's neighborhood, smoking a cigarette and talking to Cordelia on the phone. She had just laughed through Cordelia's disgusted rendition of her recent battle against a particularly clothes-ruining slime demon and the considerable angst it had caused her when she heard the beep of another call coming through. Checking its origin, Faith sighed with slightly put on exasperation, rolling her eyes again as she told Cordelia, "And the Junior Juvenile Delinquent wannabe is calling up with her excuses now. Gotta take this, Cor, but I'll call you tonight if you're not still in the shower de-gunkifying."

"Right, shot down again for the cheerleader, I thought that ended when I left Sunnydale and the strange fascination everyone has there for midget blondes," Cordelia grumbled, but Faith knew that she wasn't serious despite her negative tone. "Are you planning on coming back here any time soon, or did you find your inner hick chick out there in the middle of Cow City?"

"I'll almost finished up out here," was Faith's not exactly clear reply. "Call you later, smell better, Cor."

Ending her call with Cordelia, she answered the call from Santana's number, not bothering to say hello as she greeted her.

"Let me guess, you had a super important make out session with the hot blonde that needed attended to and any possible dead or dying victims that needed saving would just have to wait for a more convenient time for you to hone your Slayer skills."

"Faithy?" replied an older male's voice from the other end, his tone of voice slightly confused by Faith's opening lines. "Faithy, it's me. I found your name in Santana's phone, and I wanted to let you know that she's okay, she hasn't been hurt or nothing like that, I promise. But I do have her with me now. She's with me, and she's gonna need your help in the very near future."

A cold, icy dread swept through Faith's spine, and she tightened her grip on the cell phone until she had to remember to stop to keep from breaking it. This couldn't be. There was some mistake, something she had misheard, because this simply couldn't be happening like she was hearing it.

"Who the fuck is this?" she snapped, but even as she demanded an answer from the speaker, she already recognized the voice. How could she not, after hearing it for sixteen years of her life, even if nearly four had passed since she heard it last? Who, other than Angelus, ever called her by that name?

But he was speaking again, his voice confirming what she already knew, even before she voice said the words aloud.

"It's me, Faithy. Your old man- your pa. Man, I know it's been a while since we've talked, but I would've thought my girl would know my voice anywhere, any time."

Then it was him. It was him, her father, after all those years that he had vanished, no, fled out of her life and his responsibility of parenting her, calling her up like he had gone on a weekend trip. Her father, using Santana's cell phone, telling her not what he had been up to in his absence, not that he missed her or he was sorry, not that he wanted one more chance to be part of her life. Not telling her that he was sorry. Her father, telling her that he had Santana Lopez with him and she needed Faith's help.

Her father, like always, using baiting and guilt to get his way. Despite the rage now settling deep within her heart, Faith had to acknowledge some grim humor in his consistency.

"What the fuck did you do to her?" she nearly spat. She wouldn't call him Pa, or Dad, or Daddy, none of the names he had once answered to, the names that she called him with equal parts desire and dread. He was worth none of that to her now, and still less if he had hurt Santana or intended to.

Once she would have given so much to hear her father's voice, to know that he still thought of her, that he would go to such lengths to obtain her attention, even if it was in negative and destructive ways. But now Faith wanted only to know what information he was concealing from her that would help her to help Santana. Now, the old longing for her father's love and approval was overridden by her disgust and rage.

"She's gonna be all right, Faith, I promise," her father told her, but she could hear the nervous tremor in his voice and knew that either he was not sure of this, he was outright lying, or he had something deeper going on, something that he knew she wouldn't want to hear at all. "She's just a little unconscious now, but she really is all right. She's a tough girl, just like you. That's one thing I can say for my girls, I made some tough ones."

"We're not your girls, and you had absolutely shit to do with how we turned out, unless you want to count all the pieces of us that are fucked up," Faith spat, her face heating with her anger at his comment. "I don't fucking believe you. Santana's tough, all right, too fucking tough for a pussy of a man like you to take down. If you're gonna convince me that you didn't just pick her pocket or snatch her purse and take her stupid phone, you'll have to do a lot better than that."

But even as she said it she wasn't sure. Because what was her father, last known to be located in Boston, doing here in Lima, Ohio, if not for the deliberate intention of tracking Santana down, of capturing her? And Santana, with her only recent knowledge of her biological father, was both curious and vulnerable- a horrible combination for making decisions.

"Can you afford to believe that?" Pat Lehane told her, and Faith knew that what he was saying was true. If he was putting her on, probably the most she could lose out of her day was her pride, her emotional composure, and maybe what little cash she had, if her father actually intended to take money off her and didn't realize she basically had none at the moment on her. But if he wasn't…she could lose Santana.

"She needs you now, Faithy," Pat repeated, with a little more urgency in his tone. "I didn't want to do this, I swear, but it's the only thing I knew to do, with the situation I'm in. Santana needs you, and I need you, so you have to come."

"Santana doesn't need me," Faith snapped, gritting her teeth. "But you, you're gonna need a coffin and a last will and testament when she wakes up and realizes what you did to her."

"I don't think so," Pat replied, and Faith grimaced at the nervous chuckle her father made in response to her. "Not where she's gonna be when she wakes up. I'm pretty sure she's gonna be too busy to worry much about coming after me. I'm gonna be the least of her worries, and that's why I'm telling you, Faithy, your sister is gonna need you fast. So are you gonna come help her?"

"What did you do to her?" Faith repeated, her tone hard and cold as stone. "No, fuck that, you tell me what the hell you did that you need to drag us into your shit. I know you wouldn't do this, you wouldn't care enough to do this if you hadn't fucked up big time and needed to sell us out to save your own ass."

She hadn't expected a real answer. She wasn't there in person to hold some sort of threatening weapon to his head or throat, and so her father didn't feel pressured to give a real response. He just chuckled again, something of a plea in his answer.

"Come on, Faithy, just do this, please? For me, for your sister, both of us. I need help, Faith, and I need the help that only my own girls can give me."

"For the last fucking time, I'm not your girl and neither is she!" Faith's voice raised into a near yell, but Pat contradicted her, quiet but sure.

"But you are, Faith. You're Lehanes, both of you. Family. And family sticks together, no matter what goes down. Family forgives and forgets, and your family needs you now."

"If family sticks together, then where the fuck have you been for the past few years of my life and all sixteen of hers?" Faith shot back, angry at herself when she heard the slight catch to her tone. How could she give him even that bit of emotion to use against her? How could she let herself feel it?

She heard the man she had once called Daddy let out another slow breath into the receiver, his voice cracking and crackling as he answered almost a full minute later.

"Faithy…I'm in trouble. I know I've messed up with you girls, messed up big. But I'm in trouble and now I dragged your sister into it too, and I need you to come help me out. If you don't wanna help me, I understand, but your sister, she didn't do anything to you, and she's gonna need you when she wakes up. Please, if you don't wanna help me, just help your sister."

And how could she say no to that? What he was saying was true. Even if she could deny her father her help- and Faith wanted to, could have done so cheerfully- she couldn't leave Santana to whatever he had pulled her into. She owed that to Santana, even if she didn't owe her father shit.

"Give me a damn address," she demanded, barely restraining her anger as she cracked her knuckles unconsciously. "And if she's hurt before I get there, you're gonna see what sorry is."


	17. Chapter 17

Santana could hear the man's voice long before she had become conscious enough to be able to open her eyes. She became aware of a distant, burning aching in her neck, then gradually a steady, throbbing soreness in her limbs that was exacerbated by a hard, cold surface beneath her. She realized that her body was twitching, not yet in control enough to shiver, as she began to awaken. The voice around her was male, hushed, but quickly becoming distinct, and she recognized it as her father's.

Her father. Her father, outside of the school, drawing her close, his hand on her arm. Her father and the syringe in his hand, the pain in her neck, now and then. This had been him. Wherever she was now, whoever she was with, whatever was happening, it was his fault, it was all because of him.

Anger helped speed up her ability to regain more rational thought and bodily control, and Santana nearly leapt to her feet right then, ready to come out with fists swinging. But her emotional instincts were just barely overridden by her mental ones, and she held herself still instead, gathering what information she could while keeping her eyes closed. It could be to her advantage for them to think that she was still unconscious for a while and unable to understand anything, let alone leap to her feet fully restored and fighting.

She thought she could hear only one distinct voice. Maybe her father was on the phone? He sounded stressed out, but also almost pleading, as though he were trying to appeal to someone. Maybe to Faith, would he have called Faith? If he had, whatever Faith would have to say to him would definitely be enough to induce pleading. The floor beneath her appeared to be concrete, and she knew of no one who had an unfinished basement or anything else that might have that kind of flooring.

She couldn't figure out where she was without opening her eyes, but even so, Santana decided to proceed slowly with pretending to wake up. The less Pat Lehane knew and understood about her capability as a Slayer, the better. It might be that she could jump up and break his neck in less time than it took for him to utter the first syllable of her name, but that didn't mean that she had to advertise it to him right off. She was small, young, and had recently been unconscious, and maybe for just a few seconds when she needed him to, he would forget that she was much stronger than any of her friends in her position would have been.

Her friends…he wouldn't have done this to anyone else, would he? What if he took Quinn too, or even that annoying Rachel Berry? What if he took Brittany?

With the thought of Brittany, Santana's eyes immediately opened. She couldn't even fake the slow blinking and gradual awakening that she had planned once this possibility came to mind, but Pat didn't seem to notice. Instead he just turned quickly when she started to sit up, giving her an all too false smile. She could see the sweat beaded on his forehead and the cell phone in his hand and knew with some satisfaction that she had been right- he was on the phone when her eyes had been closed, and he was pretty agitated.

"Santana," he greeted her, as though she had just awakened from a good night's sleep rather than him sticking a needle in her throat. "How are you? Are you doing okay?"

"Well, the blubbery, balding, walrus-resembling deadbeat loser who ran off on me and my mother just stabbed and poisoned me and probably shot me up with some freaky disease, then dumped me off in the middle of what looks like a friggin' slaughter house," Santana snapped, running a hand over the wound from the syringe on her neck as she glowered back at him. "Was that supposed to be an actual question I was supposed to actually answer?"

"It's…Santana, it's not like that, honest," Pat tried, running a hand through the said hair self consciously as his eyes darted back and forth. "It's not, I promise. It's just…I promise, I never would have done that, I never would have laid a hand on you if it wasn't something that I absolutely had to do. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt you-"

"Really, because the bloody crater in my neck is kinda calling you a liar here," Santana deadpanned, deliberately allowing the hand that was on her neck to lift a middle finger towards him. "Where the hell am I, and what do you want out of me to bring me here? Because if you think you're gonna use me as some kind of incestuous sex slave just because I'm half Hispanic, I'm gonna tell you now, first off, disgusting and disturbing, second off, I'm a lesbian, third off, you get your dick anywhere near me and it's getting bitten or twisted off."

Of course, she could see where she was, in appearance. It looked to her like she was in some kind of abandoned warehouse, complete with bleak, dark walls and floors, barrels and boxes of something she couldn't identify, and nothing else of interest to her- at least, no visible whips or chains or weaponry that she might have expected from a place that had sexual implications behind it, or even that was meant to act as a sort of holding cell. So if that was Pat's intentions, he was going to be stunned by just how badly he had failed to pull it off.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Santana," Pat repeated, holding up both hands as though to ward off any upcoming efforts at attack from her. And she had to admit, she was seriously considering going for it, as pissed off as she felt. "I promise, I'm not that kind of man. I wouldn't do that."

"Oh, no, you'd just knock me out and drag me to some skeevy place straight out of a really bad porn movie or slasher film presumably in the middle of nowhere, where no one will hear me scream," she retorted, but even as she said it her heart was beating fast, the truth of her own words hitting her. Did her father truly intend to hurt her and was just biding his time, trying to stall until he thought he had enough of an advantage to surprise her and subdue her again? As strong and alert as she was now, that wouldn't be easy, but maybe he didn't realize that. Not if he thought she was just like any normal girl…

"I didn't want to do this," Pat insisted, shaking his head, still keeping his hands spread and plainly in her view. "I swear, I would never have contacted you at all, I would have let you live your life in peace and not never have to think or worry about me at all, if I didn't have to do this. I didn't have a choice, it was the only thing I could do."

"Screw that," was Santana's decision as she got to her feet, starting to stride to the door. "Try and see if you can keep me here, you old, fat wannabe Santa Claus."

"Santana, no, you can't leave, you have to stay here!" Pat said desperately, starting to jog after her across the room, but Santana had already reached the warehouse's entrance. She was starting to reach for the heavy door to slide it open when someone else did so for her, and standing only a foot away from her was a tall, slender man in a long jacket and gloves, a gun held at her eye level in his right hand.

Santana froze; strength or not, she wasn't about to gamble against a gun. Her eyes stayed locked on the new man before her even as she addressed Pat, trying hard to keep the fear she was feeling out of her voice.

"What was that again about not doing anything to hurt me?"

Ignoring her, simply looking past her to the man practically cowering a good distance behind, the man addressed Pat, speaking, she noticed, with what sounded like a touch of an Irish accent.

"Evening, Pat. We can make this nice and simple or we can make this hard, it's all the same to me. You said you have the money you owe us."

"Well, I said that, yeah," Pat hedged. Santana didn't have to look back at him to know that whatever it was he had said to this man, it was far from the truth. "That's what I said."

"I hope that what you said was the truth and you will do what is required of you in order to keep the ability to continue to speak," the man told him, not a hint of humor in his tone or body language. He clicked his fingertips against the gun's barrel threatening, cocking an eyebrow in Pat's direction. "If you have the money, I suggest you hand it over now and be done with this. If you decide to play games, or if it turns out that you've lied, we will not only deal with you, but also with the little girl. If you think that having a child present is going to save you from your fate, then you are a far more foolish man than even I thought possible."

"Okay, first off, I am NOT a child or a little girl," Santana interrupted heatedly; gun in hand or not, she wasn't about to let this conversation continue without getting in her say. "Second off, where is this we we're talking about, because if you're talking you and the gun, I'm sorry, but talking about a weapon like it's an actual person might be standard gangster affair, but here in Lima freakin' Ohio-"

"For someone who claims not to be a child, you're rather ignorant in geography," the man snickered, fixing his eyes on Santana as he shook his head. "You're in Boston, little girl." Addressing Pat then, he asked, gesturing towards her with the gun in an idle fashion, "So what will it be, Pat? Do we deal with cash, or do I deal with you and the little girl?"

"See, though, Calder, that's where you're wrong," Pat said with great bluster. Santana looked back at him, skeptical, and saw that he was puffing up his chest, drawing his short stature to as much height as he could manage. "You ain't gonna deal with me or her either. My little girl here is gonna deal with you."

"Say what?" Santana sputtered, disbelieving, as she rounded on the man still making sure her body was a living shield between them. "No, you did not just say that. There is no way in hell you fucking kidnapped me, dragged me several states over, and called up some gun toting gangster you owe money to, just so I can do your own damn dirty work!"

"Oh, it's not just me, little girl," the said gangster- Calder, Pat had called him, assured her, the arrogance in his voice making Santana's skin prickle with disgust. "Do you think I'd really go about my business with any less than a full team to assure things go my way?"

No sooner had he spoke than he pushed the motel door open, making a guttural noise in his throat that Santana realized a few moments later must have been some sort of language, because within moments she could see several figures drawing closer, crowding the doorway. She could only see pieces of their faces, and many were too large for her to really see all of their bodies, but one thing was certain- only one of them was possibly human. She saw at least two vampires and two monstrous beings that were either actually monsters, or some kind of demon unlike anything she'd ever seen outside of the books Faith had shown her.

She heard Pat's low whimper from behind her, and it was only the fact that she couldn't quite breathe that kept her from making some noise of her own distress. Because if this wasn't some twisted dream, or some strange trip she had accidentally undertaken, then she was apparently far, far from home, without anyone being aware of her location, with no weapons at her disposal, expected to fight off not just her kidnapping father, not just a man with a gun, but also several other creatures that would have no hesitation in trying to take her down.

If this was what it meant to be a Slayer, then how the hell did any of them survive?

88

Once Faith had determined Santana's supposed location and that she was to go after her, be it a trap her father was setting up for her or not, she had another problem to solve. Her rental car wasn't exactly top speed, and she didn't have the time or patience to deal with cops chasing after her if they decided to try to pull her over for speeding. The last thing she needed was to become a wanted figure on the news involved in a high speed chase, nor was it the kind of publicity Angel Investigations needed. She also had to keep in mind that the longer Santana and Faith were both missing and not able to be accessed by others, the more likely it was that Maribel Lopez would become alarmed and send the police out after them herself to make sure they were okay. And yet how could Faith waste the time or energy it would take to tell the woman what was going on, when any decent mother, Maribel included, would insist on coming along to assist, no matter how much her presence would actually increase the amount of danger her daughter was in?

No, she couldn't tell Maribel what was up, and her rental was far from ideal to speed off in. But Faith saw little other options at the moment.

As she gathered up a duffle bag of weapons, holy water, and other potentially needed objects for their disposal as quickly as possible, Faith slung it over her shoulder and headed out the door of the Lopez home. But just as she was stepping outside she saw pink leather clad figure, blonde ponytail sticking out of a matching, sticker-covered helmet, pull up on a motorcycle into the Lopez driveway, coming to a stop a few feet away from her. As Faith blinked, somehow unsurprised that Brittany Pierce would be the type of girl to not only own but casually and skillfully drive such a vehicle, Brittany casually removed her helmet and looked over to her, tilting her head as she spoke.

"Is Santana home? She isn't answering her phone and I know for a fact that she takes it even into the bathroom for her poops, so if she isn't answering then it has to be either because her mother took it away as punishment, she dropped it into the toilet again, or else she's been kidnapped by aliens and their space genes interfere with phone signals. Whatever the truth is I'm concerned and I want to make sure that both she and her phone are okay."

For a few seconds Faith just looked at the younger girl before shaking her head. She had a feeling that Brittany Pierce was a person that she was never going to figure out, one way more incomprehensible to her but somehow much less annoying than Buffy Summers ever had been.

"Well, you can rule out the toilet drowning or the grounding, and most likely the aliens," Faith told her. "But look Britt, I need to get going."

"Well, that doesn't make any sense then," Brittany pondered, bringing up one hand to rub at her chin thoughtfully. "Then the only other choice left is that Santana must be in some sort of trouble that's bad enough she can't get to her phone." Her blue eyes suddenly sharpening, she looked Faith up and down with growing suspicion. "Where are you going in such a hurry? With those?"

She nodded to the machete handle and particularly large cross bow sticking out of the nearly breaking zipper of Faith's oversized duffle, which, Faith realized in hindsight, were hardly inconspicuous if a cop did try to pull her over. Great…already the obstacles were starting, by way of Santana's own girlfriend.

"I don't have time for this," Faith sighed, running a hand through her hair and shifting the duffle to hide it as much as possible behind her back. "And to be honest, Santana doesn't have time for this either. I just need to get going, as fast as-"

And then she looked again to Brittany's motorcycle, a new idea occurring. If she wanted fast, and she wanted a vehicle no lazy ass traffic cop would bother with…

"Hey, Britt, if I were to tell you I need to get to Santana, and I need to get to her fast, would you be down with me borrowing your ride for a while?"

Brittany didn't ask questions, nor did she spare any time to give it any sort of thought. Instead she just looked back at Faith steadily, holding her gaze with her own.

"No," she said simply. "But if Santana's in trouble, then she needs me, whether or not I have her robot fighting skills. And if she needs me, I'm there. I'll drive. You hop behind me and tell me where."

Faith considered protesting. It wasn't her preference to bring civilians into a Slayer's fight, especially blonde underaged cheerleaders whose only supernatural abilities seemed to be to say the strangest possible things in the most offbeat timing. But she had a point- Faith had never driven a motorcycle before, and although she was pretty sure she could pick it up fast, it would be a lot faster to just hop on board with someone who was obviously already skilled and could get her where she needed to go with minimal crashing in the process. She could always ditch her at the scene and go the rest of the way alone.

"Whatever," she decided, jerking her chin into a nod. "Get on and get moving, 'cause we need to be gone."

She waited with impatience for Brittany to mount her bike before straddling it behind her, wrapping her arms tight around her waist. She tried to ignore the not exactly unpleasant vibration of its motor beneath her legs and the feeling of her breasts brushing Brittany's back, of her arms locked around the girl's firm stomach as Brittany took off in the direction Faith had indicated, with Faith hanging onto the GPS map of her smart phone as tightly as she could in one hand. The main thought in her head was not concern of possibly dropping the phone, though, nor was it her efforts to ignore the admittedly attractive form of her sister's girlfriend against her own body. Her main thought, pounding into her head like a staccato beat, was fuck her father for this.


	18. Chapter 18

Santana's eyes darted as she took in the five figures behind Calder, only one along with Calder of them fellow human beings- and for all she knew, they could be ones with powers of strength that rivaled her own. She was feeling more than a little outnumbered, entirely out of her depths, and all the training she had received from Faith still did not seem enough to her to adequately prepare her for a situation like this. In fact, she could not actively remember a single defensive move she had been taught.

Anyone in her situation should have been feeling rather high levels of fear, and Santana certainly was. But the more the seriousness of the situation began to dawn on her, the more it began to shift over into anger, even rage. How dare these people, and things, that didn't even know her threaten her life because of what this pathetic little stub of a man had done, just because she happened by some sick fluke of genetics to be related to him? And how dare he come into her life only to use her as a shield or personal weapon at his disposal?

If Pat Lehane wanted to put her into a fight, then he was damn well going to get a show. And if he happened to get in her way in the middle of the war, well, Santana Lopez wasn't going to shed any tears or feel any regrets that he was too stupid not to make himself a casualty of the battle. The way she was feeling then, she was pretty damn close to deciding to go for Pat first over the others.

She looked around hurriedly, noticing the group advancing and taking notice of all possible objects in the warehouse that she could use as potential weapons. One lesson from Faith came back to her then, firm and welcome in her consciousness- if she had no weapons at her disposal, then pretty much anything close by could become one, if she was creative and forceful enough in how she used it.

"You want a fight?" she demanded, jerking her chin up in defiance as she lifted up both hands in the air, taking one, then two steps forward in seeming surrender as her thoughts rapidly kicked into gear, considering and rejecting possible plans as quickly as they came to her before deciding on one to try. "You're looking at the wrong girl. This guy fucked you and your money over, right? Well how is attacking me going to get you what you want or punish him? If he doesn't have it then it's not gonna make him cough it up to hurt me, I got pulled into this shit the same as you did and he doesn't give a damn what happens to me. He'd much rather you hurt me than hurt him, so you're not punishing him at all."

She didn't look back at Pat, but she could hear his sharp intake of breath and knew he was more than a little concerned that her words would convince them. Inwardly smirking, she kept her hands up, appealing to the human leader, Calder, who looked back at her with raised eyebrows, something like appreciation in the way he regarded her.

"It does seem a shame to punish such an enterprising and attractive young lady when she could be put to so many more uses in life," he acknowledged, the hand not securely around his gun tapping at his chin in exaggerated thought. "You have convinced me, little girl. Rest assured, your life will be spared."

Turning to the others, he instructed, "The girl is not to be killed, or maimed in any way that causes permanent harm to that pretty face of hers. Nor the rest of her. Subdue her and leave her to me."

With lewd leer in her direction, he added, "Don't worry, girl, I'm sure you'll enjoy me…in every possible way."

Catching his not exactly subtle meaning, new outrage flared into Santana's mind, and as the demons and vampires advanced towards her, she shook her head hard, her hands coming down into position for a better fighting stance.

"On second thought, screw all that. I'm taking you all down."

And with head lowered as though to charge, she sprinted forward in a lunge, fist shooting out to aim for the gun in Calder's hand.

88

Faith had always thought that given the opportunity, she would be able to drive a motorcycle with enviable, awe-inspiring speed, with hell to pay for anyone who tried to slow her down- if, of course, she didn't crash it first. But although she wasn't surprised that Brittany Pierce would be the type to be capable of owning and driving one, she had severely underestimated the speed that the younger girl would be able to manage and maintain control of. By the time they pulled up on the address that Path Lehane had given to be the location where he had taken Faith, Faith's cheeks felt raw and numb from the force of the wind hitting her skin, her hair was a windblown, tangled mass she couldn't have ran her fingers through if she tried, and her hands felt stiff and almost sore from how tightly she had gripped Brittany around the waist to stay on. As she swung her leg over the side of the parked cycle, stretching out her limbs, Brittany stood upright as casually as though she had gotten off of a scooter or tricycle, removing her helmet and shaking out her hair.

"So Santana's here?" she asked, turning to Faith and pointing towards the building before them.

It was a rather typical location for supernatural violence of some kind- a rundown, abandoned warehouse in the middle of a sketchy looking street in the middle of nowhere. The only signs of human life inside was the car parked outside of it, not to mention the tell tale noises of some kind of battle going on inside. Faith couldn't have picked a more clichéd place for a guy like her father to get into trouble if she had drawn it up herself into existence. She nodded, still somewhat cycle-lagged from the relatively brief period of time it had taken to actually arrive, given Brittany's intense navigation skills.

"This is it," she told her once she was sure that she would be able to speak without her voice shaking. "And it's started. Wait out here."

But if she thought that Brittany would actually listen to her, she was again underestimating the girl. Next thing she knew as she dug out a stake in one hand and her axe in another, she was aware of Brittany silently but with set mouth and jaw extracting her machete. Holding it with two hands, Brittany trailed after her, determination in every step. It was obvious that she wasn't going to listen to her without a fight, and fighting Brittany was not something Faith had time for then. Letting the girl stride behind her, she flung open the warehouse door, entering into the fray inside.

Inside was chaos. What looked like a flurry of flailing humans, vampires, and demons were locked into battle, all activity directed towards one small girl, defending herself with a steel gurney-like table as both shield and weapon as she swung one end out at everything that came at her. Faith's father, immediately recognizable although considerably weathered and flabbier from the last time she had seen him years ago, was cowered by the exit, seemingly trying to find a way to dart outside without the notice of the man several feet away, aiming a gun in his direction. Although Santana appeared uninjured so far, and she seemed to have done some damage towards at least one of the demons and one of the vampires too with her table weapon, it appeared just a matter of minutes or seconds before they overpowered her.

With a shout of aggression, Faith threw herself forward, knocking the handle of her axe into the gun holding hand of the man by the doorway hard enough that she heard a bone break. Snatching the gun up and throwing it through the open doorway, she hitched up her axe and stabbed it, wooden handle first, through the back of one vampire, stabbing it through the heart. As it exploded into dust, she threw her stake to Santana, watching as the girl let her table drop on the foot of the human and catching it in her hand. Faith buried the axe in back of one of the scaly looking demons that turned to face her, watching with some triumph as Santana threw her stake with perfect aim through the second vampire's heart, resulting in a second cloud of dust. With only one demon, two humans, and their father left, she turned to see Brittany lift her retrieved machete with some effort and bury it in the chest of the demon that had started to lumber forward. She made no change in expression as she regarded the results of her action, simply tilting her head to the side as she uttered, "Gross."

Santana had just enough time to meet her girlfriend's eyes, a brilliant smile at her action and her comment bringing out the dimples in her cheeks, before Calder made a move towards the door, his eyes narrowed. In her continued state of surprise at the other girls' arrival and everything she had just witnessed and participated in occurring, Santana thought that Calder too was somewhat in shock and was just trying to flee girls who could obviously kick his ass without a problem. But when she saw him stoop for the gun that Faith had tossed aside, her anger came back in a rush, and she grabbed the back of his jacket, thrusting him aside so roughly that he flew across the room, landing in a heap at his open-mouthed partner's feet. Santana snatched up the gun, holding it up in a slightly trembling hand. She shifted her aim back and forth, first towards the obviously stunned men across from her, then to her father, weak-kneed and perspiring, only a few feet away. She didn't have a plan in mind; it didn't seem to her then that any action she could have gone through with would be exactly the right response to the situation.

"You," she said finally, her voice considerably steadier than her hand, "you're all fucking assholes, not to mention cowards. Vampires and demons aren't enough, you need a gun too? Well what are you gonna do now when you don't have shit?"

"Sanny," Brittany said softly, coming behind her and laying a soft hand on the small of her back, but Santana stepped away from her, not wanting then to be touched. Her eyes shifted between Pat Lehane and the two men he had brought her to overpower, with absolutely no regard for her safety when compared to his own. Her eyes came to rest on Pat, and the hand holding the gun had been starting to slowly sway back towards his direction as she took in his wide eyes, his near terrified expression. She tightened her grip, her fingers twitching with the decision as to whether to shift to the trigger, and she ignored his pleading stammer of her name.

It was Faith's voice that she responded to.

"Santana," Faith said quietly, and though she didn't touch her, Santana was aware of her closeness to her, of the slow step she had taken to draw near. "Santana, we've got this. This, it's not something you want to do. You've been here before, and this time, you know what's going to happen. How you're gonna feel, what you'll go through, everything that will go down if you make that choice. That's not who you are. It's not who you're supposed to be, and it's not the choice you want to make. You're better than that. You're better, and them? They're not fucking worth giving up everything of who you are."

She didn't take another step closer. She didn't say another word more, and she made no effort to overpower Santana or take the gun. She stood, waiting for Santana to make her choice, and when Santana took a deep, shuddering breath, her gun arm starting to lower, Faith let out a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Right," she said, giving a nod of her own relief, before she completed the rest of the steps needed to come up to her. Gently covering Santana's hand with her own, she gave a light squeeze, then took the gun into her own grip, her voice hardening as she pointed it first at Calder and his partner, then at Pat Lehane.

"I'm not going to kill you, because like I told my sister, you're not fucking worth it, but I have absolutely no problem whatsoever with crippling you or causing you some serious pain if you do one more thing to threaten me, her, or Brittany in any way at all, or if you even look like you're thinking about it. Obviously none of you are too brilliant to sic your demon pals on a Slayer who just happens to have a Slayer for a sister too, but I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt that you're smart enough to get the hell out of here and never show your face to any of us or anyone we know ever again if you don't want you be missing a knee cap or the ability to walk. So go. Now."

She jerked her chin towards the door, and Calder and his partner wasted no time in taking the opportunity given to them, not even pausing to mutter a threat or give a backward glance. But she had given Pat too much credit as he faced her, his eyes darting from Santana to Faith as he attempted to plead his case to them.

"Faithy…you have to understand. Those men, what they were going to do to me…I knew you girls, between the two of you-"

"Stop talking," Faith said flatly, her eyes darker and emptier than Santana had ever seen as she looked directly at the man who had fathered them both, what looked like a deliberately lack of expression in her gaze. "I was talking to you too. Get out of here and don't even try to ever contact Santana or me again."

"Faithy, I'm your father," Pat protested, spreading his hands palms up in a helpless gesture. "Yours and hers both. I-"

"You're not our father," Santana interrupted, and she saw Brittany nod emphatically, her hand slipping into Santana's and squeezing tight with her support of her. "You're just the guy that fathered us."

"She's right," Faith agreed, her head inclining in a brief nod as well. "And it doesn't mean a damn thing except when it comes to what we are to each other. It doesn't make you anything at all to us."

She raised the gun a little higher, holding it at Pat's chest level. "Get out of here, _Pat_. Don't make me repeat myself again."

She didn't have to. Whatever it was that Pat had wanted to say or convince her of, his desire to maintain full use of his limbs won out as more important to him, and he too slunk out of the door with only one fast glance back. Faith was pretty sure that the look was more about making sure he wasn't about to be shot in the back than it was about wanting her to change her mind. She waited until she could hear the screech of his tires leaving tracks to get away before she turned back to Santana, looking her over more thoroughly. The girl was somewhat disheveled, with a few bruises already popping up, but otherwise looked unharmed. However long she had had to defend herself singlehandedly before Faith's and Brittany's arrival, she had been holding her own.

"Are you okay?" Faith asked her, and Santana nodded, running a hand through her hair and giving a somewhat hollow laugh in response.

"Yeah, all in one piece. Not that I was gonna be much longer if you two hadn't shown up. How the hell did you know where I was and get here like that anyway? And how the hell did you drive so fast?"

"The asshole formerly known as father made sure I got the memo," Faith said dryly, rolling her eyes, as Brittany raised a hand, her usually somewhat blank look changed by the self satisfied curve of her lips.

"We took my cycle."

"Britt," Santana shook her head before wrapping her arms around her in a fierce hug, nevertheless careful not to squeeze her hard enough to hurt. She was still in her embrace as she said to her and Faith, "You were fucking awesome. Thanks."

"You were awesome," Faith shot back at her, giving her a small smile of her own. "Seven again one, and holding your own? Not bad for a baby Slayer."

"You and Britt came in though," Santana pointed out, releasing her grip on Brittany slightly so she could turn to look at Faith as she spoke. "Did you see Brittany take out that vampire? Damn, that was freaking amazing!"

"I'm badass," Brittany agreed with a nod, and Santana laughed, giving her another squeeze before turning more fully to Faith, regarding her with a faintly furrowed brow.

"Are you okay, Faith?"

Faith started to respond, but her breath released slowly without her intention of doing so, and her nod in reply was not as strong as she had wanted it to be. She tried a second time, more firm then, and spoke with her usual assurance.

"Yeah, I'm five by five. We took out some baddies, little sis kicked ass. So our father is a bastard, nothing new there."

Santana continued to look at her with somewhat narrowed eyes before stepping forward to wrap her arms around her, resting her chin on Faith's shoulder. Faith, not quite sure how to respond, slowly let her own arms come in a loose returning embrace around her, pretending not to hear Santana's soft response near her ear.

"I don't know what the hell five by five means but I know you're not okay. Not yet. But you will be. Both of us will be, and even though I totally take credit for being awesome, I'm gonna give a lot of the credit of us being okay to you."

She gave her one more squeeze, then stepped back, just in time to hear Brittany's comment.

"I knew he wasn't your real dad. He couldn't be, because your real dad has to be a robot. I mean, your mother is a human so your real dad, the robot, is still out there."

Whatever she was feeling then, and however right Santana might have been, there was no possible response to that comment for Faith except to laugh.


	19. Chapter 19

"So I guess this is it," Santana said somewhat awkwardly, her shoulders lifting and falling in a heavy shrug.

Faith noticed that she was careful to avoid her eyes, and she was standing with an unusual hunch to her posture. They were standing in the driveway of Santana's home, with Faith having already given Maribel her goodbyes and endured the woman's rather affectionate parting embraces and words with more enjoyment of it than she would have predicted. Faith had thought, with Maribel's insistent instruction for her to take care of herself, how strange it was to hear that, how few people had ever thought it possible that someone like herself would need to hear that. It was nice, but somehow also a little depressing for her to hear those words and feel the arms of a woman who had almost from the start acted like a mother figure towards her, though she barely knew her at all, even before she knew her daughter's connection to her.

Faith would miss Maribel Lopez, and though she hated to think about it to herself, let alone say it out loud, she would miss Santana too, much more than she ever would have thought would be possible.

It seemed, though, that Santana was struggling with similar feelings, because the younger girl shifted her weight, her words a little too fast and loud for them to be very genuine in intent as she spoke again.

"You know, it probably wouldn't hurt anything for you to stay a little longer and give me a few lessons. I mean, I still drop my shoulder when I punch sometimes, and that one kick move you showed me is still a little rusty. I need some more practice to really be ready-"

"Trust me, Lopez, you got this," Faith interrupted, rolling her eyes and giving her a slightly forced smile. "You faced down seven creatures going for your throat and you were still standing, even giving back whatever they dished out. Most of being a Slayer is about instinct, and yours are good." She paused, smirking, before adding, "Except the part where you follow strange men around the back alley and let them sweet talk you into hearing what they have to say. That, you gotta work on, and as a lesbian I'd think you'd be ashamed those instincts to say hell no are so rusty."

Santana laughed at that, giving Faith a little shove that would have sent someone other than a Slayer to the floor, but barely moved Faith. "So…I guess there's no chance of you relocating or opening up a Lima office, huh?"

"Hey, I know I'm hot, but this is Ohio," Faith shook her head, spreading out her hands and looking down at herself as though her physical appearance was a point in and of itself. "I'm not exactly the type of girl people are gonna trust around here, and honestly neither are you. We don't fit, and that's cool. You and Britt, you'll find your place, and it ain't gonna be here. Trust me on that. Feel free to come drop by LA and see me whenever you want, all right? I got a feeling if you don't end up in New York after you graduate, LA would be more your speed. Believe me, we have plenty of monsters to go around, and we could use another pair of hands."

Santana's lips curved into a smile, but her shoulders were still slumped, and her lips flattened quickly, pressing themselves into a thin line. Faith could see her eyes glistening as though with unshed tears and had to quickly look away before the other girl spoke.

"Well, I guess you have to go catch your plane. Get back and have all the sex you've been missing out on with your girl, right? Not that you've really been missing it from here in the first place," she added with more than a little mischief in her gaze, raising an eyebrow meaningfully.

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" Faith mirrored her eyebrow raise, one hand on her hip, as Santana's smirk became a broad grin. "What, you reading my texts?"

"Please, I'd prefer to keep my eyeballs in my head rather than burnt out on the floor," Santana retorted. "You think I can't hear your late night Skype sexcapades through the wall? Quiet you ain't, Lehane. I had to tell Mami it wasn't me so she wouldn't seize control over my laptop or phone."

"You're bluffing," Faith replied, even as she mentally scrawled through the past few nights, trying to remember exactly what she'd done with Cordelia via Skype or phone and just how loud they really might have been. "You were sneaking out with Brittany half the time I've even been here."

"You'll never know unless you ask Mami, and something tells me you're gonna let that one go," Santana rejoined, the dimples Faith sometimes saw in her own reflection in the mirror now aimed her way in her sister's face.

Rolling her eyes again, she reached out and ruffled Santana's hair, unsurprised when the girl leaned in and wrapped her arms fiercely around her waist, resting her head against her shoulder. Faith hugged her back just as tightly, one hand resting on top of her head, and took a deep breath to settle herself before Santana pulled back, definitely blinking back tears this time and no longer trying to hide it from her.

"You have my number," Faith told her quietly. "And Angel Investigations' number, and its address. You need me or just want to blab my ear off, you know how to find me."

"Yeah," Santana said a little shakily, taking a slow breath and giving a nod. "Yeah."

They hugged one more time, longer this time, and when they parted with a little awkward wave, Faith found it difficult to speak her last words to her.

"See you later, sis."

"See you," Santana murmured back, before hurriedly disappearing into the house, a tear already escaped down her cheek.

As Faith got into her rental car, preparing to drive herself back to the airport, her chest was tight, and she found herself thinking of Santana, undoubtedly already burying herself in her mother's arms or speed dialing Brittany to come over on the phone for her comfort. Her little sister was tough in so many ways, kept such a hard shell on the outside, and yet for those who truly knew her, she found it so easy to turn to for comfort and support. Santana would be fine, Faith was sure of that. But it was still so damn difficult to get in that car and drive away.

She had barely made it around the corner before she heard a familiar deep voice speaking from the passenger seat.

"Why the long face, Faith?"

Faith shifted her eyes towards Earl, giving him a small, somewhat forced smile, and shrugged her shoulders. She knew that he knew very well why she was down, and she didn't much feel like giving a response aloud. She was sure that Earl would do the talking for her, and he didn't disappoint.

"You'll miss her," Earl said gently, his voice quiet. "She's quite the girl, that Santana. Just like her sister."

They sat in silence together for a few more moments before Faith finally responded, her voice a little hoarser than usual as she kept her eyes carefully fixated on the road.

"It's hard to keep losing people sometimes."

"Oh, but you didn't lose her, Faith," Earl corrected, the smile as audible in his voice as visible on his face. "Didn't you listen to what you said to her yourself? You'll see her, you'll write and talk with her, probably use that camera computer thing you and Cordelia are so fond of. You ain't gonna lose Santana at all if either one of you got anything to say about it. You've gained her. You might be separated from her sometimes, but she ain't lost."

Somehow, that didn't quite feel true to Faith, at least in that moment. Although she didn't say anything, Earl must have known her thoughts, for he continued in a more serious tone.

"She's not lost, Faith, you know exactly where she is and how to reach her. Now, your father, sure, that was a loss, but not one that just happened. Your dad lost himself to you a long time ago. And the way he just made you feel, that ain't new either, but it's still there, and it still hurts."

"I really don't feel like a heart to heart about my feelings here," Faith said half heartedly, trying and failing to sound as gruff as she wanted to.

"Never do," Earl agreed amiably, "but feelings and needs, those are two different things, right?"

Faith aimed another half hearted glare in his direction, but when Earl lay a light hand on her arm, she heaved a sigh, the words slightly easier in coming.

"I'm glad I met Santana and her mom, her girlfriend, got to know her like I did. But…"

She paused, not willing to say the rest even with Earl's somewhat comforting touch, and Earl finished the sentence for her.

"But it hurts. Hurts to leave people you love."

Faith nodded slightly, thinning her lips as she gave another sigh.

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah, it does."

"It's always been your way before, to try to keep from loving, right?" Earl said, still gentle in his tone, his hand not yet leaving her arm. "Easier that way if they leave you, so it won't hurt as much. Or if you find out maybe you might love someone, you want to leave them, before they leave you."

Faith didn't answer that. There was no point in acknowledging he was right; he already knew that. It had been so hard for her to let herself love Cordelia, to let herself love Buffy and her friends, and now Angel and everyone else in her inner circle too. The more she let herself love, the more vulnerable she was, and now there was Santana, adding one more who could allow for hurt.

"Pull over, Faith," Earl said unexpectedly, and Faith looked over at him, brow furrowed as she attempted to understand his request.

"What? Why?"

"I got a point to make on trust, so I'm gonna just ask you again to pull over," Earl said patiently.

Rolling her eyes, Faith did as he asked, pulling the car over into the first parking lot she saw. Turning to face him expectantly, she raised an eyebrow.

"And this lesson, is this it and I passed, or do I need to hold my breath for something possibly disturbing?"

"I'm gonna give you an opportunity now," Earl said with continued patience, ignoring her comment. "I'm gonna let you experience something you never got to, get a sense of closure that you weren't ready for before, but I think you are now. But the last test of it is, when I tell you to, you got to close your eyes and keep them closed until you're told to open them."

Faith opened her mouth, but at the look on his face, slowly closed it again. She was more than a little curious, but Earl spoke then, starting his test.

"Close your eyes, Faith."

With a sigh, Faith did as he asked of her. She was more than used to these little tests. Eyes closed, she waited for his word, not even bothering to guess at what he was about to show her. But the voice that spoke to her to open her eyes was so unexpected, yet so achingly familiar, that her heart leapt to her throat, and it took her a moment of stunned unbelief to comply.

She had been almost entirely convinced that she was imagining what her own ears had heard, but no, there she was…Professor Diana Dormer, her former Watcher, her former guardian, the woman that Faith had loved almost as a mother- the sort of mother that her own had never been. She was sitting in Earl's place in the passenger seat beside her, close enough to touch, should Faith try, but Faith didn't dare. As solid as Diana appeared, she was afraid that if she reached out to her, the image would disappear, nothing but her imagination.

"I have to say, I never thought the day would come that you wouldn't have something to say," Diana said wryly, giving Faith the same smile that she had missed so deeply over the past few years, and Faith swallowed, finding her words t last.

"Professor Dormer…"

"I think you're old enough now, Faith, and done enough for this world, that Diana is a more appropriate name to call me by," Diana corrected her, and Faith breathed in again through her nose, starting again.

"Diana…is this…real? Are you really here, or is this just…one of the things Earl does?"

"Why can't it be both?" Diana asked, tilting her head slightly to regard Faith. "Yes, I'm here, but yes, this is also as you said, one of his "things." It makes it no less the real, however."

She reached out a hand, gently stroking Faith's cheek, and Faith shivered, feeling hot tears rise up behind her eyes. Diana's hand shifted to her head, tenderly tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she spoke again.

"My time here is unfortunately brief, Faith. I'm not yet controlled enough in my abilities, as Earl is, to be able to come and go and interact with others as I please. But I can manage the few minutes I need to make some very important points to you, so in that time, I need you to listen and not speak, because what you need to hear is more important than anything you may feel you wish to say. Understand?"

She paused, giving time for Faith's shaky nod, before continuing.

"I want you to know, Faith, that I am so very proud of you. So proud, and so pleased to see the woman you are, and I have so much faith- no pun intended- in the woman you will become as well. I want you to know that you can speak to me at any time you wish, and I will hear. I watch you, Faith, as Earl does, and I have been for some time. I see you, and if you listen closely enough, your intuition will hear me speaking back to you when you need. I can guide you, but know that I trust you are able now to guide yourself with very little input from anyone else. I trust you to be the guide of others, and I can see for myself you do this well."

She slid her hand from Faith's head down her arm, entwining her fingers with the younger woman's, not reacting to Faith's tight squeeze back but rather simply giving a firm returning squeeze of her own as she concluded.

"I want you to know and believe, Faith, that I have never once regretted you coming into my guardianship and my life. Becoming my family, and as much a daughter to me as though you were of my own blood. No matter what words came out that mouth of yours or how much you tested my caring for you, never once was I sorry that you were in my care. You have brought my life more satisfaction and joy than I had ever before experienced, even in the brief amount of time that I was able to have you in it. I want you to know, and hear with your own ears that I love you, I have always loved you, and the one regret I have with my time with you is that I never spoke those words to you nearly as clearly or as often as you should have heard them, enough, I fear, for you to fully have believed. So I'm saying it now, during the small window of time I have to try to make up for an old woman's mistakes."

She squeezed Faith's hand again, looking directly into her eyes as she spoke with the directness that Faith was accustomed to, but there was warmth and softness in their gaze that Faith was not nearly as used to seeing, years before.

"I love you, Faith Lehane. I loved you when I was alive and I love you in my death. I am asking now, and I would command it, if I didn't know myself that you were entirely too headstrong and independent to do anything but resist a command giving to you, for you to believe me when I tell you that my death was not your fault. I would die again, gladly, to keep you safe and active as a force of good in this world, one that I could never match in power with my own actions. I have fulfilled my purpose in this world by preparing you to fulfill yours. My time was up, and yours is only beginning. So live your life, Faith, live out your purpose, and have no more fear or guilt, no more regret or shame of anything at all about who you are or where you have come from. You are destined for wonderful things, and even if they weren't written in your destiny, you are a woman determined enough to make them happen all the same by forging your own path. I will enjoy every moment of watching it unfold for you."

The tears that had been standing in Faith's eyes were streaking, unchecked now, down her cheeks, but she didn't try to hide them or wipe them away. It felt to her as though a tight pressure that had been present for years in her chest had suddenly been lifted away, leaving her free to finally draw full breaths once more. When she tried to look away, Diana grasped her chin, turning her face back towards her, and gently wiped the tears off her face. Holding her face so she had to look directly at her, she spoke again quietly.

"There are only a few moments left of my time here, and I suspect they are better used in embracing me than in hiding your face."

She didn't need to be prompted twice. Faith reached out for her with slightly jerky motions, folding her arms around Diana and drawing her as close to her as she could manage with the seat dividend in between. As she felt Diana's arms close around her, she didn't have time or thought process to really think through the miracle of touching her this final time, of being able to say to her with her embrace all the words she had not been able to back then, and could not find the coherency to say now. It didn't seem to matter, either to Faith or to Diana. With Diana's arms around her in this last embrace, Faith felt the grief and guilt that had always been wrapped around her heart since her death begin to break away, replaced with a sense of peace that had never seemed entirely possible, no matter how her life had changed and improved.

Diana would be gone soon, she knew, wherever she was in death, and Faith would be returning to Los Angeles, back to Cordelia and Angel, Wesley and Doyle. Back to her family. But although that thought alone once would have seemed incredibly strange, even impossible, what was even more incredible to her now was that they weren't the only people she could consider to be family. For the first time in Faith's life, she belonged, not just in one place, but in many. She knew where she was going in life, how she was needed, and who she was needed by; she knew that her absence would leave a void in others' lives that couldn't be easily filled. She knew that no matter what happened, or what she might lose in the future, there would always be people she could turn to, people who would show her caring and concern, people who could and would become home.

Because one thing Faith Lehane had learned, above all else, was that home was not, as she had once envisioned, an external location, nor a hopeless wish that couldn't be fulfilled; home wasn't even a goal, a destination she would one day find or reach. Home, she realized, as she felt Diana Dormer slowly fade out of her grasp, was the people who loved and claimed her, the people who drew her in as theirs. Home was others, but most of all, home was her sense of self within, her own personal self acceptance. And there was nothing anyone could do, nothing that could happen, that could ever take that away.

No matter where she was now or where she went, Faith Lehane would always be home.

The end


End file.
